


Jumping the Tracks

by ChipAndDealer



Series: Tied to the Tracks [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is almost a squib, Gen, Ginny has Split Personality, Harry is a nearly unbreakable Horcrux, Hermione is a deaf legilimens, Hogwarts Second Year, It strikes me I make a lot of characters with no friends, Lockhart is a gambler, Luna is a Hard-Reset Time Looper, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Plus all the greats from first year, Possessed Ginny, Ron has a hat, Sequel, Tonks is an adrenaline junkie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-01-03 23:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipAndDealer/pseuds/ChipAndDealer
Summary: Second year is a time for self reflection, making enemies, and probably beginning a horrifying killing spree under directions from a magic journal you thought was your friend. Join Ginny Weasley, a narcoleptic insomniac obsessed with televison, Luna Lovegood, a victim of the same experimental magic that caused her mother her death, and the rest of the gang from year one. Not Quirrel though: he's dead.





	1. Slipping and Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's your local sequel Dealer, here, bringing year 2 of A Station South of Canon. I take most of my inspiration and knowledge of the series from the movies and other fanfiction, which makes Ginny something of a problem since in the movies she basically has no character and I'm naturally contrary to canon ships by nature so I haven't had the opportunity to read many fics where she really shines. I do think it's kind of funny, though, that a character who specifically gets possessed by the main villain of the series isn't an antagonist in that story. You know who the main antagonist in CoS is?
> 
> Dobby.
> 
> That just isn't right.

I was always a bit impressionable. My brothers were all interested in dragons, or government, or pranking, and no matter how they arrived at these pursuits, generally they stuck to it and worked toward it in some way, but my attentions had more… fluctuation.

"I want to be a princess."

"I want to be an archaeologist."

"I want to be in the circus."

"I want to be a sheriff."

"I want to be an international superspy."

"I want to be a crocodile hunter."

"I want to be a private gumshoe, living off my wits, going paycheque to paycheque, so I can clean a little dirt off the streets."

My mum's response to these was usually the same. "Arthur, for the love of Merlin can you stop letting her into your workshop when you've got that blasted muggle thing working."

The others never really bothered with dad's work. A lot of it was sorting through papers and dealing with old wizards who don't know any better than to buy muggle goods in London, but not all of it was like that. He brought home some muggle items from time to time, altering them for wizarding purposes as a sort of private hobby. Usually, it was something like a car, or a rubber duck, but once he brought home a wondrous invention I couldn't get enough of. He called it a 'telly,' and besides my family, it was my favorite thing in the entire world.

There were so many stories, so many places I'd never be, so much cunning and strength I'd never have. It was a little sad at times, but the joy I felt at watching them get through it at the end made it all worth it.

"I want to be them," was my true wish.

My name is Ginny Weasley, and I wanted to be the people on the telly. I don't think it was just that they were heroes. I liked the stories of Harry Potter and Gilderoy Lockhart, but I never wanted to be them. The people on the telly were different, though, I felt connected to them in a way I can't quite describe. It wasn't just the heroes, either: the villains, side characters, even the damsels in distress, I felt a kinship with. They were real to me, maybe more real than anything else.

Okay, so I'd never told my parents this, but sometimes I felt myself… slipping, like I was going to sleep but my eyes were still open. I would move on automatic, and it'd take someone bumping into me or shouting in my ear to wake me up.

Sometimes I would go to bed and lie awake for hours, and if I wanted to be at all functional in the morning, I had to steal some of mum's dreamless sleep potion. I would slip off to sleep, and wake up somewhere else, on the couch, on the front porch, making breakfast, and I'd tell everyone I wasn't tired.

I was tired. Always.

When everyone had gone off to Hogwarts was the worst of it. Mum paid a lot more attention to me, then, and when I could slip off to dad's workshop and watch the telly was the only time I could get any peace. I'd slip off, and pretend I was sleeping as the colors and sounds washed over me.

Ron didn't arrive on the Express with the students; he came later along with another handful of students. Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter.

He called them all his friends, 'yes, mum, including Draco. No, mum, I'm not crazy,' though the ridiculous red and gold hat he wore seemed to suggest otherwise.

Draco, for his part, completely ignored the Weasleys, instead greeting his father and leaving without saying goodbye, but Ron said that was just for his dad's sake. I did get to meet the other's though, and yes, that includes Harry Potter.

He seemed, mouse-ish? It kind of felt like a loud sound would send him skittering under a cabinet, somewhere. He was polite, but not exactly the kind of brave hero stories about him built him up to be.

Neville seemed relieved, above all, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn't say much, but that seemed normal for him, so I didn't take offense.

Hermione bugged me, somehow. Nothing she said struck me as particularly unpleasant or even weird, but I just got a feeling when she looked in my eyes like something was crawling up my arm. Gross.

We talked, and met with their parents briefly, and when I felt myself slipping, I pinched myself to stay awake. By the time we finally made it back to the Burrow, my left arm was covered in bruises, but I'd made it through without significantly embarrassing myself.

We only found out later that Luna Lovegood's mother had died that day. She was never really my friend, more my brother's, but it was still so strange to see Luna like that.

She was so… dead. She shambled from room to room like a corpse, eyes misted over with some remembered pain. No light, no laugh, no life was left in her being.

There was talk she wouldn't even get to go to Hogwarts, but her dad nixed that quickly enough. "I can't teach her at home. I don't have Pandora's skill in magic or instruction." He looked over at the despondent girl. "Besides, right now she needs friends. She needs support, more support than I can give her alone."

The funeral was quiet, but thankfully I didn't have any issues during it. I hoped I'd be able to have it somewhat under control by the time I got to Hogwarts, but there was no guarantee.

Ron was trying to get through to Luna, but the girl was still practically comatose. All through Summer, he still could barely get a few words out of her.

The end of Summer, however, brought with it a whole new host of troubles. All of our Defense Against the Dark Arts books were Gilderoy Lockhart, for all years. Yeah. By pure coincidence, I'm sure, the man himself was also at Flourish and Blotts when we arrived with Harry Potter in tow.

Over the Summer, he seemed to have gotten some color back in his face and his walk had evened into a more confident one, but his eyes still had an unsettling dart from side to side, like he expected to be attacked at any moment. Judging by Ron's description of what happened at the end of last year, though, I couldn't really blame him.

Lockhart was dazzling, I think that's the best way to describe him. His clothing was shiny, his movements were sweeping, it was like everything he did screamed 'look at me,' and everyone did. He cast a spell on the crowd without ever waving a wand.

I don't know much of what happened after that, since I couldn't stop myself from slipping and losing an hour to that strange half-sleep, but when I woke up, I had all my books so I guessed I hadn't missed much.

I didn't even notice until I was packing my trunk for Hogwarts that an extra book was slipped in. It was probably a mistake, but I wasn't about to report it to my mother. She'd insist we take it back, and I wasn't about to give up a free… diary? Well, whatever it was, I wasn't about to give up a free anything.

When I got back to my room, I opened the book and wetted a quill with ink, scrawling the first thing that came into my head in my messy, swirly, handwriting. 'Dear diary,' I'd seen people do that on the telly all the time. 'My name is Ginevra Weasley, but everyone calls me Ginny, except mum when she's really mad at me.' My quill stilled before I finally wrote another line. 'I don't have any friends.'

I bit my lip, looking at the line before hurriedly crossing it out. That's way too depressing.

The ink began to fade as my face morphed into a scowl. "Fred, George, did you switch my ink with the disappearing kind again?" I yelled down the stairs, but got two negative replies. I was about to pursue my inquiries further, but a smattering of ink left on the page caught my eye.

'Hello, Ginevra,' it read, 'my name is Tom.'

I read it once, then again, and a third time. Carefully, I retook my chair and wrote a response. 'Hello, Tom. Is this diary yours?' Was this like a muggle telephone, and he had another diary somewhere?

'In a manner of speaking…' he replied a few moments after my writing had once again disappeared. 'You could say this is something like my home.'

My eyebrows furrowed. 'You live inside a diary?'

'More or less,' he answered, enigmatically. 'What about you?'

I looked around my room, at the discarded laundry and various knick-knacks I had gotten as christmas presents over the years. 'I live in a house,' I began, not quite sure what to say now that I knew I was actually talking to someone. 'It's called the Burrow.'

'Do you like it?' He asked, his neat script slowly crawling across the page.

I shrugged even though I knew he couldn't see it. 'It's alright, I guess. We're kind of in the middle of nowhere. The only family close by only has one kid and even though she's a girl my age, she's friends with my brother.'

'Do you want to be her friend?' He asked, and I sighed thinking about it.

'She's kind of weird, but I'm not exactly swimming in choices. At this point, I'd want anyone to be my friend.' I scrunched up my nose, wondering if this might give him the wrong idea, so I hastily added, 'but I'm going to Hogwarts soon, so I'm bound to find someone to be friends with there.'

It took a minute before he responded, but finally his writing reappeared. 'I went to Hogwarts, you know.'

'Before you went to live in a book?' I asked, my eyebrows furrowed. 'Who'd want to live in a book, anyway?'

'There are worse places to live than a book, believe me,' and as far as comebacks went, that one was pretty ironclad. 'You think you'll make friends at Hogwarts?'

The way he asked it made me bite my lip as I wrote back. 'I thought so, why? Do you think I won't?'

'I think you're interesting and clever,' I blushed, 'but Hogwarts isn't always kind to the interesting and clever. I'm sure someone as smart as you can recognize that.'

Telly programs flitted through my head as I realized he was absolutely right. Hogwarts was a school, and I was a friendless loser. I'd seen the scenario play out dozens and dozens of times, and unless I traveled back in time to convince my father to stand up for himself or had a similar kind of life altering adventure, I'd be stuck in a sort of purgatory of knocked over book bags and pig's blood at prom.

"No. No. No. No. No." I mumbled to myself over and over as the horror of my situation dawned on me.

'You do have something that I didn't have when I went, though,' he wrote, and I clung to his words like a mast in a storm. 'You have me.'

Shakily, I penned out the word, 'you?'

'I know spells that can dazzle the coldest of Hogwarts students, I know secrets of the castle most wouldn't be able to find in a thousand years. I know how to make sure you'll never be mocked or bullied, no matter where you live or what your bloodline might be.' He paused, and I felt my breath catch at his final line. 'I can teach you.'

A tiny, niggling, thought wormed its way through the back of my mind. 'Why me? What do you want in return?'

'Do you believe in fate, Ginevra?' He asked, and I shrugged because I never gave it much thought.

'Like divination? I guess...' I answered, unsure.

'No one has written to me in decades, and suddenly I find myself conversing with an intelligent wizard of the perfect age to teach,' he wrote and I blushed again at the compliment. 'I believe that is fate. That I am destined to teach you, and you destined to become the greatest wizard in Hogwarts.'

'You think I could become the greatest wizard in Hogwarts?' I wrote, sitting back in my chair and imagining the possibilities.

'I think, given time, you could achieve that on your own. My offer is only to save some time and discomfort of being mistreated in the early years.' He paused again, considering, 'and besides, teaching has been my dream for some time now. I just never expected to find such a perfect student.'

I guessed if he said it like that, it really sounded like it would benefit us both. Who else would he talk to when I had the book, anyway?

'Well, I guess if it's fate…' I penned down, grinning. 'Teaching me sounds like a brilliant idea.'

Tom agreed.

So he taught me. He taught me how to move my wand in just such a way to get the most power. He taught me things on what magic is and how it's woven into spells I'd never have been able to find in a thousand years of searching. He taught me what people want, and how to make any friend I wanted.

But as time went on, I found my desire for friendship sated, somewhat. In between our lessons, I would tell him about me, my family, my life, my fears, and he would listen to me. Finally, I felt like someone was listening to what I said like I listened to those people on the telly.

It was nice.

It was a lie.

I had insomnia, getting more tired the more I spoke and trained with him was far too easy to miss. As he went from simply writing to me, to inviting me inside the book and the odd grayscale version of Hogwarts, I took it simply as the advancement of the training from theory to practice. When I felt my muscles ache and twinge as he drew power from me, I thought I was just exhausted from drills and exercises.

I think, at some point, my mind became fragile. I don't know when, in the teaching, or if it was even Tom's fault at all. Maybe too much time in front of the Telly had rotted away a part of my brain I needed, or maybe I was always like that, and all the slipping and connection to the people on the telly were symptoms of that. I don't know, maybe I just caught some of the madness of the Lovegood house nearby. No matter what caused it, it was there. It felt like my head was held together by little bits of string, and every time I turned, it shifted a little more out of place.

I don't think it would have taken much to disturb it, but Tom never did anything by halves. As I stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and found an empty compartment, Tom wriggled his way into my mind. I suppose it was a test, to see how simple possessing me would be, or how powerful he'd become. I'm not sure how powerful he was, but possessing me suddenly grew more complicated.

My mind shattered.


	2. Indefinite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we've moved to a weekly update schedule so I don't keep everyone in suspense for too long with the hiatus, and this time it's Luna stepping up to the plate. Luna's a really fun character to play around with, but that's also why she's extremely dangerous as a character. She's quirky: what does that mean? She likes magic animals that may or may not be made up, she gets bullied... I guess, and she's perceptive in a breezy way while also being unwaveringly supportive. This is a dangerous combination, because it doesn't give a lot of room for the sorts of negative traits and flaws that make more 3-dimensional characters. My overall hope for each of these character AUs, though, is to set things up in a way that no one can fully do the job on their own. Harry is practically invincible, but without the others he wouldn't have stood much of a chance stopping Voldemort, and things are only going to get tougher from here on out.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

It always starts with her face. I don't know if you've ever seen a dead body up close, but it's completely different than a live one. Even unconscious, a person's body moves and jitters in patterns of life. You can feel, even without trying, the blood pumping through their veins, the movement in the air as they take breath after breath. The dead don't have that movement.

So it was never a question for me, even the first time, looking into my mother's face, whether or not she was dead. I could feel it. There wasn't any movement at all.

I was ten.

Eventually, someone found us. I can't quite remember who; it wasn't important. And I was taken away.

I didn't speak for the longest time. Even Ron's repeated and increasingly desperate overtures never seemed to crack the quiet shell I surrounded myself in.

At the funeral, over and over I heard these people I didn't know say what a 'tragic accident' my mum's death was and how 'she was taken too young,' and I remember getting so incredibly angry. They acted like my mum's death was totally unavoidable, but it wasn't. She made a choice, and that choice made her abandon me.

I could never hate my mother, but the anger was there, nonetheless.

It wasn't even a real funeral since we had to bring her back to the Unspeakables that day. 'Indefinite impoundment,' they called it. Indefinite impoundment of my mother's corpse.

I don't even know why they wanted it. My dad argued with them about it, but they wouldn't budge. So the funeral ended and they came and took her away.

I thought funerals were supposed to make the people they leave behind feel better, give some closure, I don't know. That just made me feel worse.

Still silent, I shopped at Diagon Alley for my books and wand with my father, and eventually he saw me board the Express for my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I sat across from Ginny in the compartment, not that she said anything. She spent the entire trip writing in this little brown journal.

A few minutes after the train started moving, the compartment door slid open and an older girl looked in, black hair straight as an arrow. Her gaze immediately went to Ginny, and she turned to face her. "I'm sorry, are you a Weasley?" She looked up from the book annoyed, and the girl took this as a confirmation. "Do you know where Ron is? I can't find him on the train."

Ginny shook her head, immediately returning to whatever she was writing in the book, and the girl spun to look at me, giving a double take as soon as she saw me. She looked at me for a moment more before rubbing her eyes and squinting, then shaking her head and leaving without another word.

What could have caused that, I hadn't the faintest idea.

My mind stuttered to a stop when I actually registered her words. Ron wasn't on the train?

I wracked my brain, trying to think of what Ron had been saying all those times he talked to me after my mother's death. Maybe somewhere in there was the answer to where he was, but I couldn't remember.

My best friend was missing. I couldn't lose him, too.

Just when I'd stood up to begin my own search, Ginny suddenly began seizing. I wasn't even sure what happened, one second she was writing in that book and the next her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she began to shake and jerk like an electric current was suddenly amped through her.

I called her name, finally breaking the silence I'd held for so long, even shook her trying to rouse her from her stupor, but to no effect. It was only when I turned on my heel to run for a teacher that the seizing stopped and she lay unnaturally still.

My breath caught as I looked at her face, so similar to my mother's in its lack of movement, for a moment I felt like I was back there, stuck as I watched her. Finally, that moment ended and her eyes fluttered open.

She looked around the compartment, not showing any sign of her previous condition beyond some slight perspiration on her forehead. Then she looked at me and smiled. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry about that," she apologized, her voice tinged with an affectation she didn't have before. "I must have given you quite the fright."

I raised one eyebrow, slowly settling back into my seat. "What happened to you?"

She waved a hand, dismissively. "Oh, just a little fainting spell. It happens all the time," she paused, then amended, "not the magic kind of spell, though."

That took care of my next question. "I don't think Ron's ever mentioned that happening to you."

She covered her mouth with a hand, giggling. "Ron's hardly incredible at noticing what happens to me, though, is he?" She took it away, primly inspecting her chewed fingernails. "Like the rest of my brothers, most of his time is spent ignoring me." At my expression, she added, "oh, don't worry: I won't be ignored much longer."

That was particularly ominous.

Still, I sat down once again, looking out the window. Ginny spent her time tying her hair up into a bun, staring at me all the while. It was undeniably unpleasant, but I do confess a bit of relief. At least she wasn't writing in that bloody book anymore.

Finally, the train slowed to a stop and I hurried off it, looking left and right, though for the way to Hogwarts or for Ron, I'm not sure.

"First years, this way." He was the biggest man I'd ever seen, tall and wide and hairier than even the wooliest of wooly nocktaurs. Apparently he noticed me gawking, though, as the students began heading for the boats. "Can I 'elp you, there?" He said, a guarded edge to his voice born of however many years of ridicule.

"You're glorious," I whispered, looking up, up, up, at his face. "Can I hug you?" He was surprised, but after a moment opened his arms, letting me reach across less than half his body. "So soft." He wore fur, like mum used to.

When I was a baby I remember being wrapped in furs like that. Mum wasn't an Unspeakable then, and she used to wear them all the time before dad convinced her to put them away. I couldn't have been older than two when she started working for the Ministry, but I remember the furs.

I don't even know what came over me, I just started to cry.

I felt myself lifted up into his enormous arms and carried away as the other first years boarded the boats toward Hogwarts with the prefects. "Now, now, there's no need fer tha'. Wha's wrong?" He asked, gently.

I clutched him tighter, weeping quietly. "I miss her. I miss my mum."

"Aw, there there, tha's not so bad. It's just a few months and you'll be back to your mum in no time," he tried to reassure me.

I shook my head, smearing my tears on his coat. "I'll never see her again," I said before going into a fresh burst of bawling.

He was just about to break into another assurance that she'd still be there when I returned from Hogwarts when another voice interrupted. "Miss Lovegood's mother died earlier this year," the voice said without inflection. "Put her down. I will escort her to the castle."

The large man hesitated, but finally put me down, allowing me to see the man who interrupted through puffy red eyes. He was dressed in black, with slicked back hair of a matching hue, and he looked at me with a measured gaze. "If you see Mister Potter or the youngest Mister Weasley, direct them to my office. They have elected to skip the Express and I have no doubt they will attempt a grandstanding entrance." He directed this last comment at the large man and with a stiff gesture had me following behind him, rubbing my eyes.

"Usually it takes fourth year, when the petty minutiae of teenage romance gets too much, for students to find themselves weeping in the arms of our resident groundskeeper. Is there a reason you chose to move the time up?" He asked, acerbically.

"He… the furs, they rem… reminded me of… my mum," I stuttered and tripped over the words but eventually got them out.

He nodded, impassively. "After a loved one dies, there are a great many who assure you they aren't really gone, and it is true in a way." He grimaced. "They haunt us far more effectively than any specter. All it takes is a touch, or a smell, and they invade our thoughts without warning. Every mistake you've made with them or words you wished you said, that is what they leave you." He looked up at the sky, expression inscrutable. "It is a despicable trial, but one far preferable to the alternative."

I rubbed my nose on my sleeve, looking distastefully at the slimy residue. "What's that?" I asked and found his eyes locked onto me once again.

"To forget them," he said, simply, and his gaze turned to the path ahead. "There are some truly cruel people that may promise you relief from this pain, they may even tell you there is a way to bring them back."

I looked at him with my mind clicking away at a thousand points a second. "There's a way to bring her back?"

He shook his head, solemnly. "They will tell you anything you want to hear, and in exchange they will have you accomplish horrible things, dangling this promise in front of you. They will lie, Miss Lovegood."

I looked away, fresh tears beginning to brim.

"I need you to understand, if anyone offers a way to bring her back, they do not mean you well; there is no way to bring the dead back to life." He rested his hand on an old wooden door lined against the castle walls of Hogwarts school. "Your mother was the nosiest, troublesome, most incredibly foolish woman I have ever met." I whipped my head up to issue a retort, but stopped at his expression. "I was… sad to hear of her passing." He opened the door and shuffled me into the crowd of first years. "Do not cause trouble in my class," he warned before disappearing outside once again with a flourish of black robes.

Before I could even fully process his words, I was called to the front and the Sorting Hat was placed on my head.

"I suppose it was foolish to think I could go one year without another difficult sorting," the hat mused as I felt it sift through my memories.

"Cunning, you have in spades, either outwitting or tricking all manner of beasts into submission. It's obvious, when your life is on the line, that same skill is what you fall back on. You would be well suited to Slytherin."

I blinked. To be honest, I'd never really considered Slytherin for me. I didn't hate them or anything, it was just one of those houses other people went to.

If the hat could it would have shaken its head. "But you hold no ambition, and without that, cunning is wasted. Such a shame." It was funny, the hat sounded genuinely disappointed.

"It takes a certain special bravery to hunt monsters without even a wand, but continuing to put a boy you consider a friend into these dangerous scenarios doesn't speak well for your selflessness." I winced at the razor barb, but still didn't respond.

"Your loyalty and hard work are quite evident, on the other hand. Hufflepuff would make an excellent fit, if you let it." He hummed, considering. "Still, your tendency to shut yourself off instead of opening up to your friends would make any of those friendships precarious."

"Um, my friend Ron is in Ravenclaw?" I finally suggested, weakly. My voice didn't raise above a whisper, but he heard it, nonetheless.

"And your persistence in recording the behaviors and weaknesses of these creatures would place you solidly in the house of knowledge. Yes, I suppose there really is only one place to put you. Luna Lovegood, for your steadfast pursuit of information at any cost, I must place you in… RAVENCLAW." He announced my destination to the entire hall, and even though I still couldn't see Ron anywhere, the Ravenclaw table cheered for me as I walked to it and sat down.

The black haired girl from the train kept looking at me, sneaking odd glances with her eyebrows furrowed. I tapped the shoulder of the boy next to me and gestured to her. "Do you know who that is?"

"That's Cho Chang, she's one of those crazy rich purebloods," he replied, clapping politely for the next student who got sorted. "Her mum's like this bigshot writer and her dad's-"

"Now that the sorting has been completed, I would like to make a few quick announcements." Dumbledore's booming voice cut off whatever the boy was about to say. "To start off, I'd like to announce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Gilderoy Lockhart."

There was a load of cheering and clapping, especially from the upper year girls at the proclamation as what was apparently the man himself smiled and waved like this was just another ordinary day.

Dumbledore held up a hand and the applause died down. "Additionally, Madame Hooch has found that one of the school brooms has gone missing, and would like anyone who might know where it has gone to come forward before a formal inquiry is started." I think I heard a muffled curse coming from the Gryffindor table, but I can't say for certain.

His face grew grave, and the hall was completely silenced as he gave his last announcement. "Finally, I would like to stress how important it is this year to stay away from the Forbidden Forest. We have investigated reports of a nest of invasive acromantula that have taken refuge inside and determined it to be true. These creatures are highly dangerous and while every effort is being made to contain them, if you ignore this warning and wander into their territory, you put yourself in grave danger." He paused as the students absorbed the information. "With that out of the way, let the feast begin." He clapped three times and more food appeared on the table than I had ever seen in one place before, and the fear and trepidation his announcement had created was dulled as the students partook in it.

I didn't talk to any more Ravenclaws during the feast, and none of them tried talking to me, either. Afterwards, the prefects led us to our dorms and I spent a little time unpacking before getting bored and deciding to wander the castle halls. Still no sign of Ron.

I'm not sure how long I wandered, but when I looked out the window it was pitch black and I knew I was breaking the curfew the prefects were talking about before. A second, but also important, problem came to the fore when I looked around and realized I had no idea where in the castle I was, either.

I heard a sort of shifting, scraping, sound come from a room nearby, and I walked toward it, hoping to find someone willing to at least point me in the right direction back to my room.

I looked around in the dim room, wishing I knew any kind of spell that could light the place until I finally found a knob that lit the lamps, near the doorway. Turning it illuminated an old bathroom, with an ornate set of marble sinks in the center.

From some hidden corner of the room, Ginny skulked out, frowning. Her hair was still tied up, but in a ponytail this time instead of a bun, and she'd divested herself of her outer robes, showing only the white undershirt with her black pants. Dressed like that, I couldn't tell which house she was sorted into, and I was too busy asking about Cho to pay attention when she was sorted. 

"Aw, fiddlesticks. I thought you'd be a prefect," she whined, twirling her wand in her hand. Her voice was so strange it almost made me reconsider if it was Ginny at all. She had an American accent with what must have been a southern twang, even if I'd only heard it attached to one or two of my parents' friends.

"Ginny?" I asked, warily.

"Nevra's fine. Always hated that nickname anyway." She said with a wave of her hand. A wicked smile tore across her face as a thought occurred. "Say, you wouldn't like to see somethin' nobody's seen before, would'ja?"

I took a step back. "Why were you hoping I was a prefect?"

"Bed checks for first years start at ten, but prefects start later." She took a step forward. "If a first year goes missing while I'm out, that's suspicious, but if a prefect goes missing while I'm in bed, anyone could be responsible."

I turned to run, but she threw a leg-locking jinx before I could clear the bathroom, sending me tumbling to the ground.

"It's sad, you know," she said as she turned me over onto my back. "You won't even remember me."

I heard a grinding sound, like something was scraping across the ground. Then I saw two giant pale yellow eyes. Then nothing.


	3. Defense Against the Lockharts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know he was only in one movie. I know it was as a sort of incompetent villain. I don't care. Kenneth Branagh as Gilderoy Lockhart is my favorite character in any of the Harry Potter movies. He is so fantastic, I want an extended cut of CoS that just has him in every scene.
> 
> Now from here on out, things might get a bit confusing this year, but we'll see how it goes. Lemme know what you think.  
-Dealer

Someone died. None of the teachers said anything, but it permeated the atmosphere. The students buzzed with whispers of when and where and how, all passing over me with a question that pounded on the inside of my head.

Did I do that?

It was late the night before, the first day of the school year, and I wasn't in bed. I slipped shortly after the sorting, and even though I made it into Gryffindor, I didn't know where the dorms were or what the password was. When I woke up, I was somewhere near the Slytherin dorms, my robe discarded somewhere, leaving me in my pants and shirt, my hair tied up, and Tom Riddle's diary gripped tightly in my hand.

With Tom's help, I managed to make it back to the dorm, and a distracted prefect let me in without any fuss, but he couldn't help me with any answers.

Whenever I slipped, sometimes I would end up in odd places, maybe mess up my mum's knitting, but to kill someone? Was I even capable of doing something like that?

I clutched Tom's diary closer to my chest.

The sounds of the people sleeping around me were deafening as I tried to remember where I was, what I did, and found the memory simply wasn't there.

Daybreak came, no sleep, no memory, and I had to get out of bed and wash up before moving down to the great hall for breakfast.

Compared to the night before, it was practically empty, only a few scattered parties of students up at that early hour, but the food was there all the same, and with it, two of those late train people Ron said were his friends.

There was another Gryffindor on one side, with bushy brown hair and a pile of books stacked on the bench beside her. The other side had Draco Malfoy, looking distinctly more relaxed than I'd seen him at the station or Flourish and Blotts. Overcome with curiosity, I scooted closer so I could hear what they were saying.

"...is ridiculous, you're not giving up Judy just so it can be locked in a cupboard and used by first years," Malfoy was just finishing saying, seeming exasperated.

"Oh, of course, you're right, Draco," Hermione said, sarcastically. "I'd rather have it be discovered when Professor McGonagall searches my things, then get expelled for stealing."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That's not going to happen."

"You're right," Hermione agreed, standing. "Because I'm going to return it right now."

He caught her arm before she could walk off. "Hermione, it's one broom. They're not going to look for it too hard."

"They made an announcement," she insisted. "Why wouldn't they look for it?"

Malfoy groaned, slapping his forehead and running his hand down his face. "Alright, how about I make a bet with you, then? Two days. You wait two days, and I'll bet they drop the search completely. If I'm right you keep Judy, and…" a mischievous grin slicked across his face, "and you try out for the quidditch team."

She gasped like the very idea was scandalous, then crossed her arms, standing with a defiant tilt. "And if you're wrong?" She challenged.

"Name it," he responded, grinning confidently.

She considered for a minute. "I suppose, if the counterbalance is that I have to try out for quidditch…" she hummed, then her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. "If I win, you have to ask Oliver Wood for his autograph."

Malfoy looked distinctly ill at the prospect.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess if that's too much for you, though…"

"Deal," he accepted, bolstered by her challenge.

She giggled, in that odd off-timbre way of hers, and the two walked off, talking about how best to wow the judges at the tryouts and what kind of parchment the autograph would be on, respectively.

I don't quite know what, but listening to the whole interaction produced an odd feeling in my throat, I couldn't quite force down. A few minutes later, I had pushed my plate away half-finished and left, preparing for my first class.

A Malfoy and a muggleborn.

My appetite waned.

First day of classes meant Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, both with Slytherins. Potions with Severus Snape was tolerable. He tormented a few students and showed obvious favoritism toward his own house, but if you didn't cause trouble he mostly left you alone. Tom hadn't really taught me anything about potion making, so it was an opportunity to learn something, as well.

Defense with Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was the absolute worst thing I'd ever experienced. Not only had Tom already taught me magic far above what he proposed, but it was completely obvious from the start that he was a buffoon.

"Now, I too was a student, once, so I know the chances of any of you reading through my books by the first class is very low, no matter how undeniably incredible they may be," the class chuckled as I rolled my eyes. 'Incredible' was right. "But suffice it to say, the basic shield spell has saved my life more times than I can count, like on page 274 of Break with a Banshee, or 355 of Wandering with Werewolves." He grinned at the class at large, pausing for a few moments before returning to the lecture. "Now, the basic incantation for this spell is 'protego'. Say it with me, 'pro-tay-go.'" The class did as he asked, and he went through the wand motions and such before he pulled aside a cloth curtain to reveal a mechanical contraption I couldn't guess at the purpose of.

"Frightening, isn't it?" He asked, rhetorically, as the class quirked their heads or shifted in their seats to take a look at the odd device. "This is precisely the same device the necromancer Clementwain used to launch his malefic orbs at me, Gadding with Ghouls, page 199, and naturally bringing such a device into a first year classroom of all places constitutes the type of danger that any lesser wizard would instantly shy away from, but not me."

I straightened in my chair. Maybe this class would he interesting after all.

"Now, prepare, James Avery, for when I press this button, the machine will activate, and you must guard yourself from whatever horrors are unleashed." The Gryffindor in question gulped audibly.

Lockhart pressed the button, and James Avery stuttered out the shield incantation, a slight flickering in the air that whatever was launched tore through like wet paper, knocking the student to the ground.

Before anyone could so much as gasp at the possible death of a student, Lockhart had apparently realigned it to point at one of the Slytherin first years. "Clarabelle Gaucho, go." He pressed the button and she squeezed her eyes shut, waving her wand randomly screaming 'protego,' 'protego,' before she too was struck down.

"Don't watch them, watch me," he commanded, and the device was once again aimed at another student. "Colin Creevey, go." The boy in question didn't even try to cast the spell, choosing instead to duck under his seat to avoid the deadly missile.

And so it went, as I shielded myself with plenty of time to protect against… I reached down and picked up the small object that my shield deflected. "A Bertie Botts Bean?"

I looked around as the students who got hit slowly rose, looking dazedly around.

"A minor deception, I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself," Lockhart apologized, not sounding very sorry at all. "These beans may sting, but if I dealt lasting damage to my students on the first day, Professor McGonagall has assured me she would make every effort to stuff each of my award winning books down my throat."

The class laughed while I tried not to sulk in disappointment. Just when I was starting to have fun, too.

Lockhart waved his hand and when the noise died down, spoke again. "Now, to start off, Miss Weasley was the only one to successfully use the shielding charm to defend herself, so congratulations and five points to Gryffindor." The Gryffindors cheered, and I swelled a bit with pride. "But, you did have one other classmate who also passed this sort of impromptu examination: Mister Creevey, congratulations."

The boy in question looked around, confusedly, pointing a hand to himself and mouthing the word, 'me?'

"Yes, you," Lockhart said with a chuckle. "Mister Creevey, you have demonstrated a skill that I have utterly failed to see in wizards ten times more experienced. Does anyone know what that is?"

"How to hide like a little coward?" Apparently the sting from the bean hadn't completely faded from some students.

"An interesting theory," Lockhart mused, and Colin sunk in his chair. "Let's test that, shall we?" He walked over to the device and patted it. "Who here knew what was going to come out of this?" One or two hands wiggled, but none came up. "I see, and what if the missile fired here was something a little more dangerous than a Bertie Botts Bean? Let's do a show of hands, who preferred Miss Weasley's method of solving the problem?" Nearly every hand in class went up, including Colin's. "Now, what if something was launched that the basic shield couldn't defend against? Even someone with years of training and an immense wealth of magical power, like myself, would struggle to maintain a shield under some certain assaults. That's not taking into account things that no shield can guard against, like conjured animals. Now think, knowing that you had no idea what would happen when I pressed this button, who prefers Miss Weasley's method to Mister Creevey's?"

"But all he did was duck," one student protested. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

"Do you want to know the secret to Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Lockhart asked back, in response. "It's simple to explain, but trickier to put into action." At the class' murmured agreement, he told us. "The shield spell has dozens of variants, as does every cutting curse, flame spell, or any number of defensive or offensive charms. I could teach you every spell I know, and believe me, I know plenty, but you would still not be any closer to becoming a master of Defense, without the secret."

"What's the secret?" Colin asked, and I inwardly groaned at the production going on in front of me.

"If you want to protect yourself, protect others, all you have to do is move," he said, with a wild flourish of his hands.

"Move?" I echoed, skeptically. "That's your big advice?" My classmates grumbled something similar.

"When you all practiced the spell, most of you managed it, so why was Miss Weasley the only one able to use it to defend herself?" The question lingered in the air, but no one had a real answer for it. "When you're in a dangerous situation, your mind works overtime trying to find a way out of it where you won't get hurt, but if you don't know what the danger is, all those ideas get rejected because you're not sure if it will work or not. You get stuck trying to find the perfect action, to get away without any injury, and because of that you end up more hurt than you would trying to defend yourself and failing. So if you ever find yourself in danger, before your mind locks up, move. Do that, and you'll always beat the ones who don't." He looked up at a clock on the wall. "Looks like that's our time for today. Feel free to eat any Bertie Botts Beans you find. Can't say I have a use for them."

The class began to pick up their things and shuffle out, but I saw him stop Colin before he could leave.

"Oh, and Mister Creevy?" Lockhart shot him a wink. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Good work."

A beaming Colin left the classroom and I felt myself slipping shortly after, surrendering myself to the hazy dream.

It's funny, I think I remember writing in the Diary, but with the ink being absorbed, there was no way to tell.

I woke up again sitting down in the great hall, a plate of food in front of me. I looked down at the odd collection, wrinkling my nose. It would have been difficult for anyone to arrange a worse plate. Every food on there I either thought was bland or hated the taste altogether. Looking to my left and right though, I couldn't see anyone laughing at the prank, or even really looking at me at all.

So, the only logical conclusion was that I did it while I was slipping.

What else did I do while I was slipping?

A hand on my shoulder made me jump in surprise, and I turned to see… Luna? She frowned, and I think I felt her grip on my shoulder tighten. "We need to talk."


	4. Beginning Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with Luna Lovegood for round two. After this, we'll be moving on to the others in the main cast, and maybe we'll find out what happened to Ron and Harry sometime this century. In the mean time, we get more of my favorite part of writing HP fics: Teaching.

It always starts with her face. No. I don't know if you've ever seen a dead body up close, but it's completely different than a live one. No, no, no. Even unconscious, a person's body moves and jitters in patterns of life. I died. You can feel, even without trying, the blood pumping through their veins, the movement in the air as they take breath after breath. I took my last breath. The dead don't have that movement. So why could I still move?

That was the question, looking into the unmoving visage of my mother's face for the second time, not whether or not she was dead, but whether I was.

I wasn't sure.

I was quiet again, wrapped in my own head, but instead of it being grief and anger sealing my tongue, it was pure confusion that struck me dumb. Is this what it was like to see the future?

Once again, Ron was trying his level best to get me to open up to him, and once again there were those people at the funeral telling me how unavoidable my mother's death was.

Was my death unavoidable?

Normally, prophecies couldn't be changed, but it felt like I had full control over myself. If I chose to act differently, what would happen? Well, worst case scenario, time would implode, killing everything in the universe in a fiery burst, but if I was slated to die anyway…

What? I was ten and my mum just died twice, I think I'm warranted a bit of selfishness.

"Hey, Ron?" I asked, suddenly, breaking my silence once again. "You're not planning on missing the train to Hogwarts for some reason, are you?"

He paused, and I held my breath, waiting for, well, I guess waiting for the world to end. "Well, we'll both be at Hogwarts this year, right?" He asked, confused. "Why would I wanna miss that?"

I nodded, thinking. So time hadn't imploded, that was good, then. If my death wasn't set in stone, then all it would take would be me staying in my room and Ginny wouldn't kill me.

But why did Ginny kill me in the first place? I didn't know her all that well, but it still seemed out of character for her. For that matter, how did she kill me? It was some kind of creature, I know that much, but I didn't even recognize the killing blow, I only saw it long enough to know it was there before I died.

Too many questions.

While the sorting hat had its reservations, there was no doubt in my mind that I belonged in Ravenclaw. Knowledge waits for no magical, after all.

When Ron had left, I took out my latest journal and wrote down a few simple notes on what I should focus my research on.

Time travel.  
Magical creatures with yellow eyes.  
Ginny, or was it Nevra? With her fainting spells.  
How my mum died.

After a moment, I scratched off that last one. Questions of that sort could wait. I had other things to think about.

The quill in my hand almost snapped with the tightness I was gripping it by, but I slowly loosened my grasp until it slipped out. I didn't have time for that, now.

Huh. Time.

Curiously enough, books on time travel were something my house had an abundance of. Not the method, of course, that would be far too useful, but more stories of those wizards who had attempted it and the side effects they had gone through. As a note for anyone who recently partook in an odd activity or event, please do not look up the side effects for that event immediately after. It is a very bad idea.

The common side effects included having every section of your body disappear one by one, creating a rift in time that destroys everything in the area, causing a paradox where you end up stuck repeating a certain section of time forever, creating split timelines, madness, death, and a peculiar idea simply called Rustgate Time, where any action a time traveler takes spirals out into scenarios worse than the prime timeline.

I rubbed my forehead with a hand, trying to quell the pounding headache. I'd only been reading for a few hours, but already it felt like my head was about to burst. Taking a look at the minor side effects didn't help, though.

Headaches, because why not? Nosebleeds, I was never particularly fond of. Temporary blindness, forgetfulness, inability to recognize emotion.

I stopped reading. This was getting me nowhere. Without even passing knowledge of why I traveled back, these side effects were just distractions.

I rubbed my pounding temples.

Distractions and headaches.

As it turned out, research on the yellow-eyed monster was similarly unhelpful, though for different reasons. There wasn't any shortage of creatures with yellow eyes, but trying to pin down which exactly killed me was next to impossible. This was compounded by the fact I still hadn't the foggiest notion how I died in the first place.

Even weeks later, going to Diagon Alley for my wand and school supplies, I found myself no closer to any answers.

I was able to dodge the scene Harry Potter and Gilderoy Lockhart made at the bookstore again, not particularly feeling like braving the mob at that moment, and walked into Ollivanders to pick up my oak and unicorn wand. That was the plan, at least.

"Hello, young lady Lovegood, was there a problem with your wand?" Ollivander suddenly asked, looming behind me.

He had certainly not said that the last time. "I… haven't gotten wand, yet." I informed him, carefully. "That's why I'm here."

He squinted at me and I did my level best not to squirm beneath his gaze. After a moment, he clapped his hands, laughing. "Oh, you're not Pandora. I apologize, these glasses don't do the work they used to." So saying, he removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a nearby cloth.

"Pandora's my mum," I winced. "Was my mum."

"You get adopted by someone else?" He asked, breezily, heading to the back to grab a wand box.

"She… died." I looked away.

"Oh, is that all?" He laid a single wand box in front of me. "She's still your mother, little Lovegood. You shouldn't let a little thing like death take that away." He moved away, saying "seven galleons," over his shoulder.

I took the lid off the box and looked down at the wand within. Oak and unicorn, just like the first time. But how did he know?

I laid seven galleons on the table and left with my wand, feeling the dim power as I held it in my hand. I never even got to use it before, I mused as various families passed me by without notice.

I paused. Before I died, Ginny shot me with a leg locking jinx. How did she know that? Maybe a family like the Malfoys didn't care about the underage magic rule, but the Weasleys certainly did, and that was before the first day of classes.

Another mystery to add to the 'Nevra' pile, and oh boy there were a few.

From Ron, I managed to determine a few things.

Number one, Ginny had never suffered from the fainting spells she had claimed on the train, except once or twice when she was particularly sick and didn't get enough sleep because of a cough or other nuisance.

Number two, Ginny liked the nickname Ginny, and found 'Nevra,' far from being something she preferred, to be completely unfitting for her.

Number three, she liked keeping her hair straight, and not up in a bun like on the train or a ponytail like right before I died.

Okay, so this wasn't exactly hard hitting investigative journalism, but I was working with what I had and it definitely said something. I just didn't have the slightest clue what.

After doing everything I could to prepare myself, I stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express once again. It wasn't until I'd walked the length of the train back and forth, I realized that Ron had missed it once again.

I cursed myself losing track of him. I'd figured it was some reaction to my not speaking to him, but that was a bit egotistical. I resolved myself to finding out what happened as soon as possible. That is, if I managed to survive the night.

I sat down across from Ginny, my back stiff, looking for anything that could happen before she had that seizure, some student shooting a charm, or her biting down on something, I didn't know, but she just kept writing in that little brown book.

"Is that a journal?" I hazarded, once the express was underway. "I keep one, myself." I reached into my bag and withdrew volume thirteen of my monster hunting records, the silver moon gleaming on the cover.

She leveled an expressionless look at me, like she couldn't comprehend my words for a few moments before she returned to writing. "It's a diary."

"Oh?" I'd read a few muggle books that talked about the diaries of young girls, so even if I didn't have direct experience, I felt confident in my knowledge base. "Anything juicy?"

She raised an eyebrow, her annoyed look bordering on a glare before she returned to the book again. "You wouldn't be interested," she said, dismissively.

I leaned back, tapping my head against the back of the bench. Okay. That conversation was officially over.

The girl apparently named Cho Chang saved me from the silence of the compartment, asking once again where Ron was. It occurred to me I never asked him if he knew her when I had the opportunity to. I guess that's the price to pay for spending all that time researching.

She turned to me and squinted, just like last time, then turned to leave.

I called after her, standing and going into the hall. "Wait, how do you know Ron?"

She folded her arms across her chest, trying to look somewhere slightly over my shoulder instead of at me without seeming extremely rude. Personally, I got wrapped in my thoughts a little too often, so sometimes I talked to people without the 'oh so precious' eye contact my parents used to stress, so I didn't mind it. It was curious, though.

"He's my friend," she answered, challengingly. "How do you know him?"

"He's my friend too… is there something on my face?" I reached up to feel, making sure I didn't have any mixture of Quibbler glasses, quills, ink pots, sticks, or anything else up there.

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "No, I'm sorry. Just stayed up too late last night, I guess. You’re a first year, right?” I nodded and she extended a friendly hand. “I’m a third year Ravenclaw. Cho Chang, it’s nice to meet you.”

I took it. “Luna Lovegood.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re Luna Lovegood? Ron talks about you a bunch.” She looked me up and down, critically, and I suddenly felt a bit exposed. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she found me lacking. “Have you seen him anywhere?”

I looked through my memories for a moment, trying to place him. “I know he made it to the station, but I haven’t seen him on the train.”

She nodded, still looking at me with a half squint. “Well, if you see him, tell him I want to talk to him, alright?” I nodded and she waved behind her as she left.

Returning to my compartment, I saw Ginny sitting ramrod straight, with her normally razor straight red hair tied into a tight bun on top of her head. My movement stuttered when I saw her and suddenly the room felt entirely too small. “Nevra?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, patronizingly. “Please. I much prefer Eve.”

Eve was definitely not a name Ginny preferred.

This wasn’t Ginny.

“Who are you?” My hand gripped my wand, tightly, and her eyes drifted over to it and then my face, giving me an expression that seemed to say ‘are you serious?’ She wasn’t wrong, of course. I didn’t have the first clue how to use it.

She stood, and those gangly Weasley limbs allowed her to tower over me just the slightest amount. “I would be careful, Luna,” she said, voice too proper, too clean to belong to Ginny. “You might hurt yourself.”

A Slytherin might have had a retort.

A Hufflepuff might have sat back down.

A Gryffindor would have stood their ground.

I was a Ravenclaw.

Eve’s laugh echoed in my head long after I’d darted out of the cabin and down the seemingly endless train cars, long after my legs gave out and I tripped, slamming into a fifth year Slytherin, sneering at my incompetence, long after I’d crawled into an empty compartment and curled into a ball.

I was alone, but I could hear her laugh.

It terrified me.

The hat sorted me without preamble and I stayed in the Ravenclaw dorm the whole night. I didn’t speak, barely moved. I had to stay alive. How could I fight something if I didn’t even know what it was?

It was only the next day I heard that a prefect died, I guess Nevra got her wish after all, when I wasn’t there to interrupt. Maybe that was the way. Maybe everything would go more smoothly if I just stayed out of the way.

Like the walking corpse I was, I shambled to my first class. Transfiguration, Herbology, History of Magic all passed in a blur, and it was only when I slumped into a random chair for Potions class, expecting it to all be the same, things changed.

It was the man in black, from before, the one who knew my mum. He looked around the classroom, his eyes lingering on me for just a moment longer than the others before he addressed the room as a whole. “It is quite incredible how predictably the quality of my students falls each year, and yet the absolutely staggering amount it dips never fails to shock me to my ragged core. I must do better to keep my insipid and ever-incorrect optimism in check” He glowered at the assembled first years. “Potions is not based on personal feelings or ‘belief.’ It is not something you can accomplish by simply trying hard enough and hoping you will persevere through.” He glared at the Hufflepuffs. “It is not something you can copy from the book, paying no mind to the boiling of the cauldron or the very building coming down over your heads.” He sneered at the Ravenclaws. “It is an exact art, and will not suffer mistakes.”

He scraped a piece of chalk over the blackboard behind him, and the class winced at the noise it created. “I am Professor Severus Snape, and I do not believe in mollycoddling my students. Some of the ingredients you will be working with are poisonous, and some are exceptionally volatile. You will be asked to prepare this ingredients to the exact specifications I delineate while maintaining fire and composure. Failure to follow these instructions exactly will likely result in extreme bodily harm or even death.” His eyes swept over the room, and the ashen-faced students and I swear I saw a smirk playing over his features. “I am familiar with spells to shield myself, but should another student’s potion suddenly erupt or explode, I expect everyone to use those great oversized pieces of vegetable matter you optimistically refer to as your brains and dodge out of the way.” Now he was smiling in a sort of mad, sadistic, way. “If you make it to the end of the year with all your limbs ad major bodily functions intact, I may consider passing you.”

The class shuddered, and he waved a wand at the board, replacing his name with the preparation instructions for the first potion, telling us to get to work. It occurred to me that his ability to do that meant he didn’t have to scrape the chalk to write his name at all. He chose to do that. I didn’t know why, but I knew it was true.

That thought swirled in my head on repeat, taunting me. ‘I didn’t know.’ I hate those words. Hate them. And I’d thought them far too much lately.

The class ended, and I packed my things away, still locked in my thoughts, returning them to my dorm and heading down to the Great Hall to eat. When I saw Ginny again, I froze and felt myself stepping back.

No.

My hands curled into fists.

Knowledge waits for no magical.

I laid a hand on her shoulder, frowning. Her hair was straight again, and she looked at me, confused, but not threatening.

My mouth was dry. I’d barely spoken at all since my mum’s death, either time, and I hadn’t drunk any water since the day began, but all those thoughts fell away.

I had to know.

“We need to talk.” The words were out there. I’d said them. Honestly. I half expected her to jinx me right there, and for those yellow eyes to once again be my last sight, but she didn’t.

“Okay,” she said, instead.

It was odd, but a part of me would have preferred the jinxing. Now I had to talk to her.


	5. The Illusion of Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel like my entire goal with this series is to make each section of Harry Potter magic inconvenient and complicated. Then I remember that each character only ever uses, like, four spells, tops, and I think maybe it really is inconvenient and complicated.
> 
> In any case, we've almost got everyone at the school. I can't imagine how complicated this will get when fourth year hits and we've got two more schools worth of characters milling about.

The Dursleys weren't happy to see me come back from Hogwarts injured, but they were satisfied, in an odd way. They knew the freakishness would only lead to harm, and seeing it come true was just an acknowledgement. Everything was right with the world.

But not everything was right with me.

My first taste of real pain set me on a frenzy trying to figure out a way to stop it from happening ever again. I thought learning shield charms might help me, but as an ability, shields were way less reliable than I thought they would be.

They functioned under a set of traits different spells had that didn't really matter anywhere else. A spell's physicality, power, effect, what type of spell it was, the caster's intent, there were so many variations on the shield charm that no single one could block even the first flurry of an experienced wizard. I couldn't imagine something more useless than protection that relied on knowing exactly what your opponent was going to cast next.

It didn't matter with the spell Quirrel hit me with, anyway, since it was one of the infamous 'unforgivable curses' and they were unblockable by any spell. Physical objects like a wall worked, but it had to be thick, clothing wasn't enough. I guess if I wanted to square down with Voldemort again, I'd have to come in a tank.

An honestly contemplative expression came over me as I considered it. Well, Wizards weren't bulletproof, after all.

"What are you doing there, boy?" Vernon barked, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Skulking around like I wouldn't notice you." This was Vernon's way of saying, 'you were quiet so I forgot you existed.' "Get yourself upstairs before the Masons arrive."

I complied, not particularly interested in spending time with houseguests anyway, and returned to my reading. Draco's Christmas gift, the book on dark magic was especially helpful when it came to information on the unforgiveable curses.

While the Unforgiveables didn't technically have classifications beyond that, and their inability to be shielded and unique wand movements made further delineations mostly meaningless, they did share some traits with spells in certain schools: the killing curse shared traits with Conjuration spells, for some reason or other, the Imperius with Transfiguration, and the Cruciatus with Illusion.

Having precisely zero experience with the Imperius and with my only killing curse interaction as a baby, I didn't have any thoughts on them, but the Cruciatus was interesting.

My first year Defense textbook, for all the good it did me when it came down to it fighting Voldemort, was useful in giving a brief overview of different magical disciplines, and oh boy were there more than I thought there'd be.

For the first year, the base classes of Potions, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Flying rounded out the curriculum. Second year drops Flying for History of Magic, and those classes continue along with a variety of more to choose from moving forward.

Illusion magic was a class only offered in seventh year and only if the student received an Outstanding in their Charms O.W.L. as such, the textbook didn't provide much information at all, but it did show one interesting tidbit: all illusion magic was built on tricking the brain into believing something false. It was not real, and therefore could not work to defend against anything without a mind like a golem or Inferi.

I didn't know what those were, but if the Cruciatus was an illusion, tricking my mind without damaging my body, I also knew there had to be some way to stop my brain from being fooled, or failing that, fool it again into thinking I was fine.

I was just about to look into it further, when a thin, pale, creature appeared suddenly on my bed. When he saw me, his face lit up. "Harry Potter, such an honor this is." He said in a rather grating, high-pitched voice.

"What?" No, that was rude. "Who are you?"

"Dobby, Sir," he introduced himself. "Dobby the house elf."

I nodded, filing away 'house elf' as something to ask Ron or Draco about later. "Right. Brilliant. Tell me, Dobby, did you come just to meet me or is this a business call?" In either case, I'd rather get it over with sooner. I'd just started cracking the answer to my Cruciatus problem before he interrupted.

"Oh, Dobby has business, Sir. A very grave business indeed," the elf tried to look serious, but his diminutive height, floppy ears, and stained pillowcase shirt gave him the appearance of someone on the verge of tears rather than someone about to deliver an ultimatum. "Harry Potter must not come to Hogwarts this year."

I blinked. "Is that all?"

Dobby looked overjoyed. "Does that mean the great Harry Potter will not go?"

It wasn't even something I had to think about. "No."

"But there is a plot, Sir. Many witches and wizards will die. It is simply too dangerous for Harry Potter to return," Dobby insisted.

Wordlessly, I picked a pen-knife off of my desk and jabbed it into my hand, watching the blade snap in half. "See? I've got it sorted."

Dobby wrung his hands, looking side to side like he was expecting someone to leap out of my closet at any moment. "Oh, Dobby knows all about Harry Potter's condition. But that is the problem: this is something you cannot s-" he cut himself off, shaking his head. "Oh, no, now Dobby has said too much."

"Wait, 'condition?' You know why I can't die?" Suddenly, the elf had my full attention.

He clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh, now Dobby has really said too much."

"Dobby, what is my condition?" I pressed, but Dobby shook his head, wringing his ears.

"Oh no, no, no." He waggled a finger in my direction. "Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts," he reiterated, and with a snap of his fingers, disappeared.

I didn't punch the wall, the space he had been just a moment before. The pain that the action provided was muted for me into uselessness, so I never did it, but at that moment the temptation was there. It was a flare of anger overriding my usual quietly analytical demeanor, and the lightbulbs in my room shattered as my magic reacted to it.

My best lead on my, what did he call it? My 'condition,' and he just disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

Dobby, house elf. I made a note for myself. Recorded it, so I wouldn't forget. He couldn't escape me forever.

It was only a few days later, the Weasleys arrived at my house in the dead of night. The first sign was a light tapping on my window… on the second floor. When I looked out, I saw Ron and his two brothers in a flying car, which made just about as much sense as anything else in the wizarding world, so I let it slide.

"We're here to save you," Ron whispered with a huge grin.

I considered for a moment. Save me from… the Dursleys?

"Get your trunk." Yeah, alright. I complied, quickly packing everything away and heaving it into the floating ford.

I could manage the Dursleys fine, but between living with them and going off to the Weasley home no doubt steeped in magic, there was no question what I would do.

Before my would-be family even knew I was gone, the Weasleys and I disappeared into the night.

The Weasley family was big. So big that meeting them all at once fried my brain a little bit, but let me try to describe each of them in turn.

Bill and Charlie Weasley were the first and second oldest, and held the positions of curse-breaker, and dragon-wrangler in turn. They weren't present when I arrived at the Weasley house, so I'll save my opinions of them for later.

The next oldest was Percy. He had the reputation among his family of being a stick, but his dedication to the rules aside, I appreciated his dry, sometimes sarcastic, humor at times when his family didn't. It reminded me of Draco, a bit, actually, though much more developed.

After that was Fred, who was the more big picture of the two, and George, who was much more the specifics man. Generally, the pattern I found was that Fred would have an idea for a prank or a candy and George would work out how it could be done. Even knowing that, I still couldn't tell them apart on a day to day basis, though.

Ron, apparently deciding to keep wearing that hat he got at Christmas, was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts soon. Not only did he have Draco, Hermione, and me as friends, but also that group of upper years and his childhood friend entering this year. Talking about her did make him close up a bit, though. He told me his friend's mum died earlier that year. Still, for the most part Ron was the same old Ron.

Ginny was apathetic, indifferent, to an extent none of the other Weasleys even came close to. She tried to hide it, but having those same traits, myself, at times. I picked up on it very quickly.

Mister Weasley was closest to her, but while she didn't care, he was more a slow stream of steady action, like a tortoise crossing a road. He radiated a sort of tranquil calm I enjoyed, and it gave the otherwise hectic Weasley house a steady center I could find relief in.

As a direct contrast, Misses Weasley was a constant flurry, giving orders, accomplishing tasks, and with the assistance of magic, always doing something like eight things at once. At the start, I went along with everything because that was what usually resolved things for me with minimum trouble. After a few days of that, though, I was so bone-tired I collapsed in a comfortable armchair and just let the afternoon pass me by. It was then I realized, this was the standard tactic of Mister Weasley and Ginny, and adopted that style while the rest of the resident Weasleys whipped about around me.

Their answer about house elves was intriguing. "Magical creatures some pureblood families use as servants," Mister Weasley answered with a shrug.

"It's another way for some families to be lazy, is what it is," Misses Weasley added.

"There aren't very many privately owned house elves anymore," he continued, unabated. "Most of them are bound to institutions like Hogwarts or the Ministry."

"They all should be," she asserted as I just nodded along to the back and forth.

Hogwarts had house elves. That was my best bet for finding Dobby, then. What I would do when I found him was a different question, and one I didn't have an answer to just yet.

"Hey, Harry?" Ron laid a hand on my shoulder and gestured toward the door leading outside. "Can we talk?"

I agreed and followed him out, as we walked among tall grass until we were a comfortable distance from the house while keeping it within sight. "What did you want to talk about?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. "Well, you, mate. No offense, but you've been a bit off since the end of school last year." He looked side to side as if to assure himself none of the Weasley brood had somehow snuck up on him to overhear. "I know things got pretty nuts fighting You-Know-Who, but we won, right? The Stone broke, but that's better than him getting it. Besides, he got dusted with Quirrel, so that's it for him."

The memory flashed through my mind, of Quirrel crumbling under my touch, and I felt my stomach turn. "You think Voldemort's gone for good?"

He raised an eyebrow at the challenge in my tone. "Mate, you saw him come apart. No one could survive that."

"Like no one could survive the killing curse?" I shot back. "Or how Voldemort couldn't survive the spell rebounding?"

He didn't have an answer.

"Ron, a year ago I didn't even know magic existed. I've been pounding through books, asking questions to anyone who will answer, and I'm no closer to finding out how I can survive things I shouldn't now than I was then. Whatever we're dealing with, it's magic way past our pay-grade, and until I know a little more about its rules or limitations, I can't assume anything." I scratched at the side of my head, frustration evident.

"It kind of sounds like this isn't about him, though," Ron answered, quietly. "It's about that curse he hit you with."

"I've got it sorted," I spat, leveling a glare at the annoyingly perceptive redhead. "When Voldemort attacks again, I'll be ready."

I turned and went back to the Burrow, Ron following behind me, wordlessly. The next day found us in Diagon Alley to buy our school supplies.

That was where I met Gilderoy Lockhart for the first time.


	6. The Joker's Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took a bit (between moving, being sick, and Verizon messing with me for the past few days) but the chapter is here! Lemme know what you think. I never see enough Gilderoy in fics, so it was so fun putting him together here. I also now have a much more solid idea of what's happening next, so hopefully the next chapter will come out a little sooner.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Gambling is an art. The art of the bluff, the draw, the game, and for those who know how to play, the world and the game become one and the same. My name isn't Gilderoy Lockhart, and I am an excellent gambler.

To gamble, first, you must have something of value. Without stakes, no one would wager against you.

"Dad, are you ready? The book signing starts in twenty minutes," Cho pushed as I wrestled my way through countless Defense Against the Dark Arts syllabi. Every teacher seemed to have a different curriculum, different teaching style, different definition over what 'dark arts' should be protected against, even. Plus, every year brought with it a new teacher, it was a miracle any of the students learned anything.

Of course, these were the same groups that slurped up tales of Gilderoy Lockhart, so who even knew what they were learning in school.

"The Diagon Alley floo station is two minutes away from the bookstore, and everything's already set up. Don't know why you're so peppy to leave at nearly half past," I whined, fixing my bow tie by hand.

Cho waved her wand, and my tie fixed itself, rolling her eyes. "I've still got other school supplies to get, and I'm supposed to meet Cedric outside Gringotts at quarter-to. Besides, you know they hardly ever set up the signing correctly. It'd be better to fix it early before the crowds get in."

"It'll be even worse with all the Hogwarts students coming," I mused, then narrowed my eyes. "Who is this Cedric boy, anyway, and why haven't I met him?"

Cho blushed, tellingly. "He's just a friend from school, dad, Merlin's sake."

I hummed, clearly skeptical, and she stomped away to the floo, huffing all the while. "Are you ready to go or not?" She snapped.

Stately, I walked to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of floo and threw it down. "Diagon Alley." With a rush of flames, hot only for a moment, I stepped out into the sprawling streets.

To gamble, there must be something you want. If the chips on the table mean nothing to you, there's no reason to bet.

My hand had just started to cramp from the signings when Harry Potter walked in.

It was a fact commonly known that Gilderoy Lockhart had no official stance on Voldemort or muggleborns. It was essential to the gamble that I make myself as harmless as possible. The most I'd ever say on the subject of the war was that everything operated much more smoothly in peacetime and that everyone who gave their lives in the fight should be remembered fondly. No picking sides, nothing polarizing. Even the subject of my own blood was muddled.

The general sentiment was that, 'Gilderoy Lockhart was a pureblood... probably.' I never gave anyone reason to think otherwise, but I never confirmed it, and with my popularity no one could check it without causing a ruckus and maybe being slapped with a defamation suit.

My public views on Harry Potter were much the same. "It can't be... Harry Potter?"

Buggs Algrim, my photographer, wedged the boy's surrounding friends and their family members aside with all the subtlety of a brick going through a woodchipper. Somehow, he managed to lift the boy, place him beside me, and ready his camera before I could so much as blink.

The boy was right there. I could have said anything to him. I could have apparated away with him and disappeared before the camera's flash went off. But I've never really been that sort of player. "Big smile, Harry. Together, you and me rate the front page."

Why call when you can raise?

I made a big speech, gave out some free books, and sent the Boy Who Lived away. I'd see him at Hogwarts soon enough. No need to give the game away so soon.

Although, was that Lucius Malfoy I spied in the corner of the bookstore? I waved a hand, calling him over. "Lucius, Lucius is that you?"

Slowly, and with an air of quiet resignation, the Blonde Death Eater made his way to the front of the building. "Gilderoy Lockhart, I had heard from a neighbor that you'd been appointed this years Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. I'm afraid I'll have to apologize now for calling them a liar."

I laughed at the razor barb, pretending I didn't understand it. Lucius was a deadly foe in close quarters, politically or in a duel, but I'd much rather face him head on than deal with him skulking in the background. The danger he represented in a direct confrontation was nothing compared to what he represented from the shadows.

"Yes, well, what can I say? Dumbledore knows the best when it comes to Defense and he finally got it. Only thing I wonder is what took him so long, eh?" I laughed, taking a picture with a random customer.

Lucius picked up one of my books at random and began lazily flipping through the pages. "Yes, I wondered myself when Dumbledore's list of qualified candidates for the position would wane."

Despite appearances, Lucius didn't hate me. Well, he didn't hate Gilderoy Lockhart, at any rate. To him, Lockhart was an idle distraction he vaguely remembered from his school days. He probably pictured me as a Hufflepuff and imagined a few memories where I existed at the peripheries.

Of course, if he remembered actually meeting me a few times, he'd probably feel real animosity towards me, rather than the antipathetic jabs he sent my way at the time.

It was funny, the book he'd chosen at random actually described him on page three hundred. 'The wizard was tall and pale, rather more like a skeleton than a man, except sprouting from his head was hair of an exceptional gold hue. I admit, it gave me pause to see, as I wondered for a moment whether that was the Hydra's treasure the barkeep had mentioned before: glittering golden hair that made the dead walk like men.'

Not the most flattering description in my books, I'll tell you that. Those were usually reserved for describing me, but that's neither here nor there.

That was also one of our least contentious meetings. In actuality, Lucius Malfoy had done more to harangue, interrupt, or otherwise spoil my plans than anyone else on the planet, and he didn't even know it was my plans he was disrupting. These were the only real enemies I had, ones that didn't even know they were my enemies.

It was the safest way to play, but sometimes it got boring not having any real opponents. I was never fond of games by post.

Of course, the counterpoint to that was my finding out I was also unused to direct confrontation when I arrived at Hogwarts. Seeing the faces of every teacher, a full half of them glaring at me, during the first Hogwarts faculty meeting set me decidedly on edge.

Wait, did Snape say something?

"I agree with Severus," McGonagall added to whatever he had said, looking directly at me. "I'm interested to know more specifics about your lesson plan. I'm afraid the syllabus you sent was rather vague."

I gave a chuckle, full of false bravado. "Yes, well, the true essence of my teaching is in experience. You can't learn to fight the darkest forces the world has to offer without coming face to face with them."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "I do hope you're not suggesting endangering the students, Gilderoy."

I waved a hand. "Perish the thought. No harm can come to them while I'm there. You-Know-Who, himself could be in there and my classroom would still be the safest place in the school."

Several of the teachers exchanged skeptical glances. They weren't very subtle about not liking me. Well, not liking Lockhart. Hmm. No, I don't think they would like me, either.

McGonagall shuffled some papers around, looking down at my hastily concocted syllabus. I doubted I'd follow any of it, but it was required to have one for every year. "It also says here you would like to restart the Dueling Club?"

Ante up.

"Yes, and I'd like Severus' help with it, if he's able," I answered, singling the scowling man out.

He looked surprised for a moment, before his composure snapped down like an iron gate. "Can the great Gilderoy Lockhart not manage a dueling club on his own?" The Potions Master poked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Not for demonstrations, no," I answered, breezily. "I need someone capable of coming at me with everything, you know? Really get the kids excited for how dueling can be."

Hit me.

"You want me," he said slowly, "to demonstrate offensive spells on you, in front of the students?" He asked, disbelief evident.

I nodded, feverishly. "Of course."

Two pair.

A sadistic grin crept its way across his face, and he turned to face McGonagall. "I'd be happy to assist Gilderoy in restarting the Dueling Club."

She sighed even as I clapped my hands together. "Excellent."

First hand played.

"On to other business," McGonagall continued. "The invasive acromantula infestation in the Forbidden Forest is currently being dealt with, but it's going to take time. The students need some kind of protection in the meantime. It is vital they stay out, this year more than ever."

"For their sake, as much as the exterminators," Flitwick agreed. "What do you think we should do?"

I tuned the conversation out. The nitty gritty of Hogwarts operations bored me to tears already and I'd only been there one meeting. I waited for the meeting to conclude, as they went through missing brooms and promising prefects and finally the new students and their quirks.

McGonagall had just finished talking about Colin Creevey and his obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived when I saw my chance to cut in. "What about Harry Potter? I hope his fame hasn't created issues with the other students. Jealousy is an ugly thing."

Snape rolled his eyes, not even bothering trying to hide it. "The boy is pompous, brash, reckless, he doesn't even attempt to care about other students, and his performance in class is mediocre. Any hope that his fame hasn't warped his personality to the point of arrogance has been efficiently dashed in his first year."

"Now, that might be a bit harsh, Severus," sprout admonished. "Especially considering he stopped You-Know-Who at the end of last year."

Snape scoffed. "Him and an army of first years. The only thing that proves is that he is more than willing to endanger other students to reach his ends."

"Still, a group of first years taking down a dark lord is pretty impressive," I cut in before Sprout could voice her comeback. "Reminds me of myself at that age. There weren't any casualties, I hope?" Please, Merlin, let this be the one.

"A few broken bones and rattled heads, but the worst of it was Potter's cruciatus exposure," Sprout made a face, looking a bit ill at the thought. "Almost never see it that young, even during the war."

"And what became of that teacher? Squirrel?" I pressed, feeling so close to the answer.

"Quirrel," McGonagall corrected.

Sprout leaned closer. "He turned to dust. Strangest thing I've ever seen." She whistled. "Don't know any spell under the sun can do that, much less one a bunch of first years cast."

Jackpot.

I waved a hand, dismissively. "I'm sure he simply attempted a spell beyond his limits and it rebounded. I see it all the time in my travels." McGonagall looked skeptical, so I pressed my advantage. "Unless you know of a spell capable of rendering a grown wizard to dust?"

"My branch of magic is Transfiguration, Gilderoy," she answered, carefully. "You would be the expert on Defense. In any case, the students should be coming in shortly, I motion to adjourn."

McGonagall played her hands close to the chest. I had to be careful of her.

After a second from Snape, the meeting adjourned and the assembled teachers made our way to the Great Hall to wait for the students.

The sorting ceremony was long and my skin started itching partway through, but somehow I made it to the end without any mishaps. Then, all I had to do was teach a class.

I don't want to give the wrong idea here with all this analysis, so let me just say, straight out, that I'm not a good short-term planner. My wife is incredible to me, she can make it from the beginning of the day to the end with every box in her checklist checked but somehow I was born without that.

I guess it makes sense why I like gambling so much. In gambling, there's nothing to plan hand-to-hand. It's all actions and reactions.

I wanted to make this clear, so you know I had no plan for teaching the second year Defense class.

"Cornish Pixies?" Seamus laughed, disbelievingly.

"Freshly caught Cornish Pixies," I corrected, and on the subject, they were a bugger to catch. While not particularly fast flyers, they were slimy so you couldn't get a firm grip on them and they loved to steal any sort of catching equipment you had. Really, they were harmless, but they bred fast and were an ecological nightmare, so I figured they'd use them as target practice or something.

Although, now that they're all here...

"Laugh if you will, Mister Finnigan, but pixies can be devilishly tricky little blighters. Let's see what you make of them now." I opened the cage and the pixies swarmed out, giving me a front row view of everyone's surprised faces. New lesson, kids. "Come on, now, round them up. They're only pixies," I sent that last as a jeer to Seamus, but I think he was too busy screaming to pick up on it.

Oops, and there he went out the door followed by... well, followed by pretty much everyone else. Neville Longbottom appeared to be hanging from the chandelier, and not in the fun way, I assure you. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were attempting to bring them down using books and chairs, which was fruitless because Pixies had gelatinous skulls so they couldn't be stunned. Hermione Granger appeared to be firing off every spell she knew, which was surprisingly vast for a twelve year old. All while Harry Potter sat in the middle of it all, wholly unconcerned by the pixie menace around him.

Well, this was an interesting bunch.

I sat down on a chair and took out my pipe, patting down my robes for a match. "I'll let you four just nip the rest of them back into their cage, hmm?" Ah, I found a match. I was just holding it up to light, when a pixie stole it from my hand, then they stole the pipe, too.

Okay, no pixies next class.

Didn't Dumbledore mention something about Acromantula in the forest? Hmm, definitely worth a look.

Ah, Hermione had just stumbled upon a useful spell. It took a few minutes, but eventually all the pixies were recaptured and I had four students standing in front of me.

I clapped my hands. "Excellent work. Highest marks for today. Now can you tell me what you learned?" I sure hoped they knew, because I hadn't the foggiest. This was more a disciplinary exercise for Seamus Finnigan than anything else.

"Don't mess with Cornish Pixies," Ron mumbled.

Hermione spoke up. "We learned that even the smallest threat can be dangerous in large numbers and that underestimation can lead to decimation."

"Running with Rats, page two hundred, very good, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." She beamed and I waved a hand. "If there are no questions, then class dismissed."

Hermione raised a hand, which I really should have seen coming. "Um, Professor? Not that I don't like being in classes with all my friends, but why was today's lesson with all four houses? The classroom got a bit cramped."

Well, Miss Granger. The real reason is that I messed up the schedule sheet and no one's noticed yet. "I find demonstrations like this are more effective with one showing. If I released the pixies to the Gryffindors and Slitherins, than there's a good chance all the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be expecting it by the time they came to class." Yeah, that made sense. I waved a hand at all the books and pictures scattered around the room. "Also, I'd only like to trash my office once, if possible."

Hermione and the others nodded, and left the classroom. I sighed, looking around at the mess.

"Excuse me, Professor?" A voice called. I looked around for a few moments before determining the location as the chandelier. "Can you get me down?"

"Good lord, Mister Longbottom are you still here? Give me a moment, I'll get you down." I rushed into the back room, knowing I stowed a ladder somewhere.

Dimly, I could hear Neville groan. "Why is it always me?"

I placed a hand on the ladder, frowning. Carefully, I removed it and set it up close to the offending light ornament. After extracting the boy, I gestured to an as-of-yet undestroyed seat across from me and he dutifully sat down.

"You know, I thought that group looked familiar, but until I saw you I wasn't sure how," I began, setting out two cups. Neville was silent, so I continued. "You're the ones who fought You-Know-Who last year, weren't you?" He nodded, and I procured a bottle from my desk, pouring the contents into the two glasses. At his indecision, I clarified. "It's not alcoholic, just a muggle drink I've been experimenting with."

He took it and his eyes widened when he took a sip, coughing to the side. I took one myself, smiling dryly. "It does take a bit of getting used to, but you know, it's growing on me."

He set the glass down, politely rejecting it. "Why are you drinking muggle drinks? I thought you were-"

"Pureblood?" I raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Well... yeah."

I chuckled at his honesty, holding up the glass and looking into it, watching the liquid swirl around. "Do you know how long a muggle lives, compared to a wizard?"

"I never really thought about it," he admitted.

"The average muggle lives half as long as the average wizard," I told him, and lowered the glass to take another sip. "Can you believe that? Half as long, and what do we accomplish? We go to Hogwarts to learn the same four spells. We go to the Ministry to mire ourselves in endless bureaucracy. The lucky ones become Unspeakables, so they can see our future, yet by their very nature they are prevented from sharing it." I squeezed the glass tighter, sloshing the liquid around. "This drink is too bitter and too sweet all at once. Imperfect, flawed, but it is here. Can you think of a single wizard who could create this? Who would create this rather than the same butterbeer and pumpkin juice their father's father would brew."

Neville looked uncomfortable, not quite sure what to say. I can't say I didn't understand the feeling.

"Perspective," I said after a moment.

"What?"

"You asked me why I drink muggle drinks. I do it for the perspective. Sometimes I need to remember what we lack that muggles have." I finished the drink. "So give me some perspective; tell me how a student capable of taking down You-Know-Who gets done in by a pixie, if you please."

Neville winced, scratching the back of his head. "I didn't really take down You-Know-Who. Quirrel kidnapped me and took me down there before the end of year feast. I wasn't a hero." His hands clenched into fists, gathering up the fabric of his robes. "I was the damsel in distress."

I nodded in understanding. "It's hard for you, isn't it? Casting spells?"

He nodded, sullenly. "It's not just spells. It's potions, and history, and everything else, too, except herbology, anyway."

"Can I tell you a secret I wished I knew at your age?" I asked, standing.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, answering in the affirmative.

"All these classes. All these spells and potions they want you to learn. None of them matter. Miss Granger stood in the center of the room firing every curse that came to mind and only one of them worked, so stop worrying about every spell." I held up a finger. "One spell is all it takes. Master one, use it to its fullest potential, and I guarantee you'll be as successful as me one day."

His mouth fell open, considering the revelation.

"Without any magic at all, the muggles have accomplished incredible things. Can you imagine the power a single spell could have?" I shivered just thinking about it.

"Thank you, Professor," Neville said, standing. "You're..." he bit his lip, "not what I expected."

I laughed, only a slight bitterness entering my tone. "Are you familiar with Horace Greeley at all, Mister Longbottom?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

I waved a hand. "Nevermind, then. I think I've taken enough of your time; class is dismissed, after all."

He started, looking at the clock. "Oh, I'd better hurry. It's mandrakes in herbology, today." And with that, he rushed out of the destroyed classroom.

I bent down and picked up a single playing card, flipping it around to see the joker's laughing face.

Oh yes. I think this is a hand I can play.


	7. Buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short bridging chapter to check on Neville and Draco. For a year that was pretty straightforward in the book/movie, I'm juggling quite a few plotlines. Don't worry, though. We've almost got the band back together and after that the year should be smooth sailing... well, more or less.

Imagine a buzz in your brain. It's been there for as long as you can remember. Every sound you hear is over the buzz, every song has it thrumming in the background, and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're the only one who hears it.

Now imagine one day it stops. You don't know why, you don't know how, but the buzzing ends. Now you feel like you can finally relax, but you don't know if it'll start up again. You're stuck, waiting endlessly for the other shoe to drop. Suddenly every sound is too loud, every song you knew is different, and you have no control over anything.

Bellatrix hadn't spoken since Quirrel died.

I could still see her; I wasn't foolish enough to believe that alone would cure... this, whatever 'this' was, but the buzz in my ears, her constant screaming, taunting, prodding, was gone. I didn't know what to think about that.

Thankfully my next class was Herbology, and I hardly ever really needed to think during that. If I paid attention, the plants themselves usually told me everything I needed to know about their sunlight, water, and soil needs.

I was just leaving Professor Lockhart's classroom to go there next, when Draco began walking beside me, revealing himself from some shadowy corner he'd apparently been waiting in.

"Oh, Draco," I watched him warily, his face bent into the smallest of frowns. "What are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow, but answered anyway. "I remembered you were stuck to the ceiling, so I came back to help you get down. Then I saw you talking with Lockhart so I waited for you to get out. We're late for Herbology, you know."

"We should hurry," I said, beginning to run before Draco grabbing the neck of my robes put an abrupt halt to the action.

"We're already late," Draco said with a shrug. "Two minutes or ten doesn't make much of a difference. There's no sense wearing yourself out trying to get there so you can't even focus in class."

That... made a lot of sense, actually.

"Besides, I wanted to talk to you about Lockhart," he began walking forward at am even pace and after a moment I matched it alongside him.

"What about Lockhart?" I passed back, wondering if he'd heard any of our conversation from before.

He looked away for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands like he was trying to put his thoughts into words. "Did you notice anything weird about Lockhart during today's lesson?"

"I noticed he released a swarm of Cornish Pixies into the classroom and told us to deal with it. That was pretty weird," I answered with not a little bit of snark.

"You didn't notice anything about Lockhart, himself?" He pressed, and I thought back to the class and the conversation after it.

Scratching the back of my head, I answered. "He's not exactly what I expected."

"In what way?" He passed back and I had to stop walking for a moment.

"Is there something you want to tell me? Why all the sudden interest in Lockhart?" I watched his reaction, carefully, surprised when he sighed and shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted, continuing to walk. "It's probably nothing, just a funny feeling when I look at him."

"A funny feeling? What do you mean?" My question was met with another helpless shrug.

"It's weird, I'm not sure, but when I see him it's got this familiar feeling to it? Like I met him before, but it wasn't him?"

"His daughter goes to Hogwarts," I offered. "You're probably just thinking of her."

"Yeah, maybe," he answered, not fully convinced.

We walked in silence for a few minutes before he finally spoke again, changing the subject. "We'll continue your fear training this year. Don't think facing down a dark lord's gonna get you out of it."

I laughed, rubbing the back of my head. "It's probably for the best. I can't tell you how scared I was this year of missing the train."

We walked into Herbology, grabbing the padded earmuffs in preparation for the mandrakes as he cackled alongside me. "Can you imagine? That would be the worst."


	8. A Graceful Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I was watching this scene again for reference, I kept thinking of that meme where the express is Thomas the Tank Engine, so even now that song is stuck in my head.
> 
> Good times.

Things had been a bit... rocky with Harry ever since our argument at the Burrow. In retrospect, I probably could have handled it a little more gracefully, but that was always much more Luna or Draco's thing. Either way, I knew I was right. Harry had been flat out obsessing about the cruciatus for weeks, and no matter the reason, spending that much time researching one of the Forbidden Curses was not a good thing. Besides, I'd seen the Voldemort on the back of Quirrel's head turn into dust right in front of me. No one could have survived that.

"Was that an assumption?" Luna's teasing voice echoed in my head, filtered through whichever memory. She always ribbed me whenever I'd say something like that. Was it logical? Yes. But Luna never really cared about what was logical. "The magical world is filled with exceptions," she would say. "Just because it makes sense, doesn't mean it's true, and just because it doesn't make sense doesn't mean it isn't." It was a mad way of saying it, but Luna was a mad girl.

She was also almost never wrong.

"Let's say you're right," I said to Harry as we walked into the station. "And You-Know-Who really did survive. We're still just second years, what can we even do against someone like him?"

"He can't kill me," he asserted, and Luna ribbed in my mind at the assumption once again. "If I can just stop his cruciatus, I'll be alright."

Ginny and my parents entered the platform as I sighed, shaking my head. "So your plan is, 'hope the most powerful dark wizard on the planet doesn't have a backup plan if one of his spells fail'?" I started walking toward the barrier with Harry beside me. "Honestly, mate, I was hoping you'd have a better plan than tha-" I was abruptly cut off as my trolley jutted into my ribs, completely stopped by the barrier that had been passable only moments ago.

Harry reached up and touched the solid wall, the locked platform they needed to be on at that very moment. He gave it an experimental knock with his knuckles to no avail. "Hey, Ron, what does it mean when the barrier seals itself?"

I stared at the wall in flat disbelief. "It's really not supposed to do that."

Harry looked around like he expected someone to jump out from behind a corner and reveal it was all a prank or some such thing, but when no one did, he shrugged. "So what's plan B, then? That floo powder stuff?"

"You need special permission to get into Hogwarts that way." I refrained from saying, 'everyone knows that,' since Harry obviously didn't. Honestly, it was hard to tell he'd lived with muggles his whole life, sometimes. He took everything about the wizarding world pretty much in stride. I kicked the barrier once again. Still solid. "Hey, you don't think that if we can't get in, mum and dad can't get back do you?"

"It's probably just some issue with whatever charms keep it going," Harry answered, sounding bored. "We should probably just wait by the car until they get back."

My head swiveled to face him, a manic grin slipping over my face. "Harry, the car."

After a moment his eyes widened in understanding. "The car," he affirmed.

If Hermione or Draco were there, they'd probably go through all the problems with flying the car to Hogwarts before we'd even left the station. They'd talk about the Statute of Secrecy before we'd started it up. They'd warn about minimum distances, driver's licenses, Hogwarts security before we could make it into the air. But Hermione and Draco weren't there.

The Ford Angela flew through the sky toward Hogwarts like a graceful ship gliding on rapids.

Okay, I wasn't the most careful of drivers.

Harry looked out the window, seeing the people below look up and point. "Are they supposed to be seeing us?"

"They can see us?" I squeaked, panicking. A few presses of the invisibility booster, thankfully resolved the problem. You know, when I remembered which button that was.

The windshield wipers went side to side, the horrible squeaking sound they made mixing with the tinnt radio and driving both of us nearly up the wall. "Well which one was it?" Harry shouted over the din.

"I don't know," I shouted back, dividing my attention between looking where I was going and turning those two off as soon as possible. "I pushed a lot of buttons, okay?"

Harry closed his eyes, pressing both his hands forward to touch the dashboard, and after a few moments where I watched him confusedly, he spoke. "Grace? We don't need the music or the wipers. Turn them off, please, they're very distracting." The sounds stopped just as Harry was thrown backward like touching the dashboard burned him.

"What?" I asked, swerving suddenly to avoid a tree as I pulled up, realizing how low we had gotten. "What happened? Who's Grace?"

Harry looked pale, nearly as pale as when he got crucioed by Voldemort. That wasn't a good sign. "Ron, we have to get out of this car." That really wasn't a good sign.

"What? Why?" I asked, looking around at all the buttons to make sure I hadn't pressed one of those 'self destruct' ones dad was always warning me muggles put all over everything.

"You know how I can talk to brooms?" I nodded, weaving through another few trees, and he continued. "I thought that if I touched the car like I do with the brooms I might be able to feel something, you know, tell it to stop?"

"Well didn't you?" I pressed, rising above the treeline once again.

"Yes..." he hedged. "But there's a problem. When I touched it, I expected something like a broom, but this is a broom."

Now he's lost me. "Mate, is now really the time to start telling riddles?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Ron, someone stretched whatever enchantment they use for brooms over this entire car, and now it's all falling apart."

I gulped, audibly. "Can we go back to the riddles, please?"

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the train track and swerved to line up with it. "Here, the Hogwarts Express has got to be on this," I said, a little too quickly, the panic I felt edging into my voice. "We'll land on top, get inside, then get to Hogwarts. Easy."

Harry tapped me on the shoulder and pointed behind... at the train about to run into us. In the interest of honesty, I want to point out, we didn't scream. I sure did, though.

Wrenching the wheel out of the way, I managed to avoid the train smashing into us. The door on Harry's side was not so lucky. I winced at the peal of metal on metal and the glass breaking as the door just barely slammed into the Express, the brief moment of contact enough to almost rip it off its hinges.

I looked over to make sure Harry was alright, and besides a few rips in his shirt where the glass had poked through he was fine. After a moment of fiddling, he retrieved his wand and began mending even those, so I turned my eyes ahead once again. "Okay, round two. We're still fine. Everything's fine. How do I land this on top of the train? Let's do that plan."

Harry pointed ahead at a looming tunnel, the Express barreling toward it. That was definitely not enough space for the car. I cranked the wheel up, shouting. "Okay, not that plan. That was a bad plan. Bad plan."

We just barely managed to clip over the mountains the tunnel punched through, scraping the bottom of one of the undercarriages on the way with a horrific sound.

"Okay, this isn't working," I said, furiously rubbing my sleeve over my forehead to wipe away some of the sweat dripping into my eyes. "New plan: forget the train. We're going to take this all the way to Hogwarts."

The car lurched, dropping us fifteen feet before resuming its flight.

"We're going to take this as close to Hogwarts as we can without dying," I amended my previous statement.

Harry laid his hands on the dashboard again. "How close would you say we are?"

I screwed my face up on concentration, keeping my eyes peeled for the track on the other side of the mountain. "I changed into my robes when we went into the tunnel last time, so... eight minutes? Are we gonna make it?"

"Keep driving," Harry said instead of answering. Before I could ask again, he leaned forward and began mumbling words into one of the radio speakers.

Gulping, audibly, I managed to spot the track once again just as the tallest towers of Hogwarts came into view. When we finally came into the grounds, I breathed a sigh of relief. We made it.

The car lurched.

Well, more or less.

Without warning, the car completely lost power, sending us careening into the branches of the Whomping Willow, which promptly began its earnest activity of beating the car and its contents into a lovely paste to feed its roots.

I had a few notes on the sadistic tree, but many of them amounted to, 'Keep away from Luna at all costs,' accompanied by a few exclamation points and underlines for emphasis. I knew I couldn't prevent it forever, but once Luna dragged me over to study it, I wanted more than a spell for light and a spell to make things float under my belt.

Hang on. A spell to make things float? "Harry, is the enchantment totally gone yet?"

Harry touched the dashboard again, shaking his head. "It's hanging on, but it's not flying anytime soon."

"Maybe... maybe not." I took out my wand, pointing it at the wheel, and summoned as much energy as I could into the words: "Wingardium Leviosa."

The good news is, the car lifted in the air and the Whomping Willow didn't kill us. The bad news is, once the drain to my magic hit, I started wishing it did. I couldn't even curse under my breath, that was how much focus it took as the car ascended past the animate tree's branches. Lifting the entire car, plus Harry and me, I felt like every ounce of energy I had was being sapped out of me. As I pressed down on the pedal again and the car rocketed forward, I couldn't even tell where we were going, my eyes not seeing past the tip of my wand. I only looked up again when Harry shouted a warning and, my concentration broken, the car landed in a heap somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.

"Brilliant," I whispered sarcastically, my breath heaving as I brought the front of my shirt up to wipe my sweaty face. "This is... better?"

Harry patted the front of the car. "Thank you, Grace."

The car's lights flickered once, though whether by acknowledgement or coincidence I was too tired to guess. I looked around at the trees and branches thick enough overhead to blot out the sky. I had no idea which direction the school was or even how deep in the forest we were. "Any idea which way Hogwarts is, Harry?"

He turned to one side, then the other, searching for some landmark we could possibly use but inevitably finding nothing. "No idea," he admitted.

Without any other options, we picked a direction at random and started walking, hoping to see the lights of Hogwarts sometime soon.

"Hey," I said after a few minutes with nothing but the chirping of insects and creaking of trees surrounding us. "You called the car Grace, right? How do you even come up with those names?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know, for the brooms and stuff, you gave all of them names, I was just wondering how you thought all of them up," I elaborated.

Harry opened his mouth to answer but paused, halting his movement. "Do you hear that?"

I stopped as well, straining my ears to listen. Sure enough, I could hear a sort of sliding skittering sound off to the right. Somehow, it sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. After a few moments, the sound stopped.

We waited for it to continue, and in the relative silence I finally put the pieces together. Acromantula. The skittering came again, louder this time, and I brought my wand out. "Lumos maxima," but after lifting the car all this way, I could only manage a small flicker.

My heart was hammering in my chest as the spider came into view, easily towering over both of us, its grotesque fangs dripping venom. It lunged at me, but Harry dove in the way, the attack shredding his shirt but leaving him unharmed.

The spider paused for an instant, like it couldn't comprehend not rending his victims apart in a single bite, and in that instant a bolt of blue energy struck it from behind and a new shape came into view.

"Wotcher," the pink haired wizard said. "What are you kids doing here?"


	9. The Art of the Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, finally up to more reasonable chapter lengths again, since the last two were more on the short side. If you've seen my other stories, you might know that I really like Tonks and she has the potential in her character and backstory to have connections with a ton of important characters which I see touched on far too rarely.
> 
> As a side note, a big part of the luxury in doing an AU like this when the canon series is finished is that I have the ability to move character and concept introductions in such a way that having them become important later isn't quite so out of left field, which is an aspect I really enjoy. Slowly, the quilt is stitched, and whatnot.

Bored. An acromantula almost up to my waist fell under an incendio, the latest of many such scattered behind me. It had rained last night and the ground still squished under my boots, so I wasn't worried about starting a forest fire. Although, if I did, something interesting would finally happen. Bored. My first real assignment, out in the field, not filing reports and chasing lost cats through Diagon Alley, back at my alma mater where the Dark Lord Voldemort had attacked a bunch of students just last year, I was killing spiders bigger than lunch trolleys, so why was I so, inescapably, unutterably, bored? My name is Tonks, and I've been bored all my life.

My parents were always worried about me. 'Coddling' I think is the right description. An incident with my aunt right before school only made that worse. Maybe 'smothering' is a better word for it.

I was sorted into Hufflepuff, loyal and hardworking. It was true, to be fair, you can't argue with the hat, but I'd always fancied being a Griffindor. They were rowdy, undisciplined. They got into trouble constantly, never being near the House Cup through their constant disregard of the rules. It all seemed so... fun.

Charlie was a Griffindor, I liked him. He was a Weasley, which my mum tried very hard to approve of, but she couldn't shake everything she'd learned growing up, so sometimes there'd be a little wrinkle of her nose when I mentioned him. I didn't care. It actually made me like him more.

He wanted to train dragons. At the time, I didn't know why the idea attracted me so much. It wasn't until we were studying for a Potions exam one night I even thought about it.

I'd noticed instead of notes, he'd begun doodling the magical reptiles again, so I threw my quill at his head, attracting his attention. "What's your favorite part?" I asked, glad for the distraction. Looking at how to chop plants in excruciating detail to put into a potion did not a fun evening make.

"Of what?" He asked, wiping off the ink from my pen that had gotten on his face.

I gestured to the doodles. "Of dragons: what's your favorite part?"

He considered for a few moments, setting his quill down. "Wings," he decided.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Why wings?"

He shrugged, looking away. "I like wings. Does there have to be a reason?" I was about to press him and say there super obviously was a reason, but he flipped the question around before I could. "What about you? What's your favorite part?"

I crossed my arms, deciding to be contrary. "Who says I have a favorite part? Dragons are your thing."

"Please," he scoffed, "I've seen you look at those training manuals in my room, you like dragons almost as much as me."

"Point," I acknowledged, sprawling my arms across the desk so I could lay my head down on the open potions book. "Teeth," I said after a moment. "I like the teeth." My face turned down toward the book, muffling my words. "Maybe the claws." When I looked up again, Charlie's expression was clearly amused.

"So your favorite parts are literally the most dangerous parts," he teased, deadpan.

I laughed, thinking about those razor teeth and monstrous claws, the images making my heart race. "Yeah," I admitted. "I guess they are."

I didn't like dragons, I realized sometime after, at least, not in the same way Charlie did. He wanted to train them, I wanted to fight them.

No, even that wasn't quite right. I wanted them to fight me, to try and kill me. I wanted that danger.

I liked it.

When I was fighting, being attacked, when my life was on the line, that was the only time I wasn't bored.

I knew, as soon as I realized it, I was in trouble. Wanting to be in danger, wanting to be afraid, it wasn't normal. I wasn't normal.

I'd known I wasn't normal for a while, I mean, metamorphmagi were super rare, but this felt different. With that, it felt like I couldn't control it, but this felt like a choice, like I was making the wrong one.

I dropped dragons after that, shoving those feelings to the back of my brain. A few times, Charlie tried talking to me, asking what was wrong and why I was so distant, but I didn't have an answer for him. I couldn't tell anyone.

I buckled down on my studies, trying to drown the thoughts in dull words and black ink. I knew it wouldn't last forever. Inevitably the boredom overtook me once again.

I started dating the Hufflepuff quidditch captain. I don't remember his name, Calvin, or Calville, or something like that, it was only for a few weeks and he was in the year above me, so I forgot it sometime down the road.

What I didn't forget was him teaching me to play Quidditch. I didn't forget the bludgers. Fast, heavy, enchanted to pursue any player close to them, they were perfect. After a while, I got tired of avoiding them on my broom, and began dodging on foot, the masses of iron slamming down inches away from me as I danced from side to side, laughing.

It wasn't long after he saw that, Calvin broke up with me. It hurt. I pretended not to care. Shoving myself in my classwork once again, I forced through the bitter boredom and tainted thoughts.

Someone else saw me that day, though, twisting through bludgers, my mind and heart ablaze, free. Dumbledore called me into his office a few days later and asked if I'd ever considered a career with the aurors.

My parents were ecstatic. My grades were good enough to get in, and I passed the physical and magical aptitude tests with flying colors, courtesy of far too many hours spent in the library or quidditch pitch trying to get my mind off my problem.

To them, I had signed on to be an auror to help people and keep the peace. My actual reasons weren't quite so noble.

Fighting dark wizards and dangerous creatures, undercover work in dens of iniquity. Just seeing the older aurors, covered in a patchwork of muggle and magical prosthetics, their limbs hacked off by an errant spell or beast, set my pulse racing.

That, I thought, is what I want to do.

As I would come to learn through training and fieldwork, however, my dream was a miniscule fraction of what the job actually entailed. It was mostly mindless bureaucracy with a side of wondering just how useless the majority of modern wizards were.

Another acromantula fell, roasted with my too-eager flame spell. Even this was too boring. Somewhere, hidden deep in the forest was a nest where the acromantula queen lay, surrounded by the biggest and strongest of her spawn, but was I there? No.

I was guarding the perimeter, where barely any acromantula even went. The ones I found now either tried to scurry away from me, or I sniped from afar. 

I bit back a yawn, my eyes scanning for movement in the darkening hour. My replacement would be there soon, then maybe I could do something fun. Despite my boredom, I would never abandon my post. I had picked this job, and ruining my reputation for something like that just wasn't worth it, even if this job was frustratingly mired in all those problems I had before mixed into one.

Officially, the aurors were there solely in a defensive capacity, making sure there wasn't encroachment before the exterminators from the ministry could arrive.

Unofficially, the aurors were there to stand like scarecrows because otherwise the parents would throw a fit there were giant spiders in Hogwarts' backyard.

Look at that, mindless bureaucracy and useless wizards, aren't the auror corps fun?

I sighed, rubbing my eyes, sore from having to readjust to the dark after every flash of flame. It wasn't like I could even talk to anyone about this, either. After I graduated Hogwarts and Charlie left for Romania, I never really made any new friends. Stuff like that just fell to the wayside at some point, I guess.

When I looked up again, I spotted a large acromantula, easily twice the size of the others, lunging toward some unseen prey. I sprinted after it, launching a shocking charm I found to be much better at handling the bigger ones than the flames from before. It landed on its back, legs curling up, and I finally got a view behind it at the two what must have been Hogwarts students it was just attacking.

One of them had torn and muddy clothes, though no obvious injuries, and the other was just as dirty with the added bonus of looking to be about ready to faint right then and there.

"Wotcher," I called, stepping closer and lighting my wand. "What are you kids doing here?"

"Bit of car trouble," the black haired boy responded, deadpan. "I don't suppose you know the way back to Hogwarts?"

"I'll take you," I offered, "long as you don't mind waiting a few minutes for the guy who's gonna take over my shift to get here."

The red haired one raised one hand, then the other. "Wait with a highly trained auror? Walk through the spider infested forest alone? Auror? Spiders?" He hummed, sarcastically, moving each hand like he was weighing the options on a scale.

"We don't mind waiting," the black haired one answered for him.

I gestured for them to follow as I continued on my route, idly blasting a few spiders when I came across them. "So, are you first years? Usually Hagrid keeps a pretty good eye on you guys."

"Second years," the black haired one answered, and the redhead bristled at the underestimation.

"Are you a teacher?" The black haired one asked. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

"Nope. Auror Tonks, at your service," I answered with some forced cheer. "What's your handle, kid?"

"Harry Potter," the apparent living legend responded.

I couldn't help barking a laugh at the answer. "Alright, kid, fair enough. So is missing the welcoming feast and getting lost in the Forbidden Forest one of You-Know-Who's plans, or one of yours?"

"We're gonna miss the welcoming feast?" The redhead whined, and I mentally pegged him as a Weasley. The thought put a twinge in my chest, but I ignored it.

"The barrier to platform nine and three-quarters was sealed," Harry explained. "I don't know whose plan it was to lock us out, but to get here we had to... improvise." I raised an eyebrow but he didn't elaborate. "What's an auror?" He asked after a few minutes. At my confused expression, he added. "Raised by muggles."

Ah, that explained it. "Basically wizard police. It's a bit different structure-wise but if you keep that in your head you'll get a pretty good idea."

"Have you ever had to kill anyone?" He asked, suddenly. As far as questions little kids ask aurors, it was pretty standard, but this time felt different. There wasn't admiration or awe in his voice it was... hollow. I looked at his face and his expression was haunted for a moment, before the Weasley's hand rested on his shoulder, wresting him from whatever memory had grabbed him. He gave his friend a wan smile, and shook his head to me. "Sorry. Forget I said anything."

That was easier said than done, but I dropped the subject regardless, walking in silence for a while.

I knew Harry Potter had faced off with Voldemort at the end of last year, but I hadn't really connected the name to the person, not completely anyway. This kid was twelve and he had to square off against the darkest wizard of our age. This kid was twelve and he found his way through the Forbidden Forest from the station without even a scratch. This kid was twelve and he grew up with muggles, no parents, no magic.

An emotion squirmed in me, rising in my being like bile, but I couldn't tell if it was pity or jealousy.

Was he bored? I wondered, staring at his disturbingly stony expression, the dark rings at the edges of his eyes showing his lack of sleep in the dim light. I forced my gaze forward again, watching my step on the slick forest floor.

I couldn't tell.

After a few minutes more walking, another figure came into view and I gave him a wave with my still lit wand. "Wotcher, Shack. Ready to take over?"

"Who's this?" He gestured to the two second years, brushing past my question. Shacklebolt was pretty no-nonsense like that.

"Harry Potter, and..." I trailed off, letting the exhausted redhead answer for himself, since he never did before.

"Ron Weasley." Hah, Weasley. Nailed it.

"I was going to bring them back to the castle when you took over the shift," I explained, and he nodded, his face unchanging.

"Consider it taken over," he said without preamble.

I gave a last wave and angled to the right, starting to walk towards Hogwarts once again, with Harry and Ron trailing behind me. They were quiet, and I knew it was because of what Harry had asked, whatever they had dealt with had just been brought to the surface again, a raw nerve touched. What had Voldemort done to them?

The emotion wriggled again, and I forced it down with an effort.

"It happened again," Harry mumbled, startling me from my reverie.

"What?" We breached the edge of the forest, and I flicked the light on my wand off, Hogwarts' own lights illuminating the way.

"Your hair," he answered in a louder tone, gaze fixed to the top of my head. "It changed color again."

"Oh, yeah." I grabbed a strand, concentrating for a few moments until it changed to red, then green, then pink. "I'm a metamorphmagus." Looking at his confused expression, I realized that if he didn't know what an auror was, there wasn't a chance he knew what a metamorphmagus was. "It's a rare condition, it means I don't need a wand or potion to change what I look like, I can just..." with a blink, I shifted my eye color through a simple range of hues as he watched, "do it."

He quirked his head, curiously, walking around me, looking at me like he was doing it for the first time. "So is this what you really look like?"

I laughed, reaching a hand down and ruffling his hair, ignoring my twisting gut. "Yeah, more or less. I'm supposed to be able to look like anyone, but I haven't been able to figure that out yet, and since metamorphmagi are so rare, I've never had a teacher." It also didn't help that most of them preferred some degree of anonymity made trivial by their abilities. "I can shift a bunch of things when I concentrate, but mostly it's unconscious, like with my hair, and I'd need hours looking at someone and changing little things with a mirror if I wanted to fool anyone they knew into thinking I was them."

"Can you change your skin? Make it harder?" He asked, eagerly, and I blinked, surprised at the question.

"Huh. Don't think I've ever tried it." I closed my eyes, focusing on my arm, growing the skin thicker, making layers of callous where I focused. When I opened my eyes, the result was... underwhelming.

Harry reached up and pinched a bit of the slightly tougher skin, sighing in disappointment before letting go. "No, that's not it."

I shrugged, letting the arm drop. "Like I said, I don't have anyone to teach me this stuff, so what I was doing just now was a guess."

We started walking again, and as Ron struggled behind, I lifted him onto my back to carry him the rest of the way. He gave a token protest, but fell unconscious a few moments after I picked him up. I checked him over with my wand quickly and frowned at the result. "What were you kids doing that his magic got drained so much?"

Another voice cut in, crisp and harsh. "They were destroying school property," he answered and I turned to see the black robed figure of Professor Snape, striding toward us.

"How good's this guy's hearing?" I mumbled.

"Very good, Miss Tonks," he answered with his mouth upturned in the tiniest of smirks. His eyes flicked to the badge on my chest, then back to my face, expression even again without so much as a blink. "I had heard you'd become an auror," he observed, tonelessly.

"That's me," I answered with a forced laugh. "Auror Tonks, enforce and respect, and all that."

He hummed, noncommittally, taking out his wand and flicking it so the unconscious Ron floated off my shoulders. "If you are idle, the Headmaster should be made aware of Mister Weasley and Mister Potter's arrival," he paused, gaze passing over the pair, "and condition." He turned away, beginning the walk back toward the castle. "They will be in my office."

Without another word, Ron's unconscious form floated behind him, and Harry hurried to keep up with the enigmatic potions master. He was just the same when I was there. I could never figure out what he was thinking. Sometimes he'd say something and I felt like I only picked up a little of the meaning, like there were layers always slipping through my fingers, or some joke I didn't get.

There's a laugh and a half right there: Professor Snape telling jokes. Yeah, not bloody likely.

Still, even from the fraction of meaning I did get, I knew he was right. Dumbledore should know what happened. I didn't know how much the little Weasley was on his radar, but he was probably slapping together a search party as soon as the Boy-Who-Lived didn't show up to the feast.

I paused, hand on the door into Hogwarts proper.

Or maybe Dumbledore knew he was found, knew exactly where he was the whole time and just... did nothing?

I scratched the side of my head, frustrated. Why was everyone so hard to understand? Harry Potter with that weird haunted look, Ron Weasley with his magic drained to the core, Snape not just coming out and saying what he means, Dumbledore with who even knew what?

Merlin, I was so sick of dealing with people. It was never something I was very good at, but trying to sift through layers and layers of meaning with every word like everyone was a spy in some war I didn't even know was happening? It was extremely annoying.

With a sigh, I pushed the door open and made my way into Hogwarts.

Who even had the patience for all these lies and nesting plans?


	10. An Enchanting Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA! You thought this story might be dead when in reality I was biding my time playing Monster Hunter instead of working on it. Joke's on... me? I guess?
> 
> I've always found the idea of outdated magic hilarious. Like, so often the oldest magic is depicted as the strongest because 'ooh, lost arts' and I like that too, but just imagining that the way wizards used to do things was so much more unnecessarily complicated puts a smile on my face.

There was a story my mother used to tell me about Voldemort. It went that a man approached him one day and said: "Voldemort, I'm sorry for taking your time, but there's something I must know. You see, I am a werewolf, committing of no crime. Yet the Ministry prevents me from working or feeding myself. I do not ask for your power or respect, give me only bread and I will swear myself to you."

"A snake," Voldemort responded, "does not grovel for food, it finds the source and takes it for itself. Prove yourself to me, werewolf, and I will show you the source." So the werewolf did, and Voldemort branded him with the image of a snake, the first of his Death Eaters.

The veracity of the story, I never knew. I always thought my father was the first Death Eater, and he was neither a werewolf nor ever lacking in food. Still, it was the moral I was fixated on.

I believe it was intended to show Voldemort's mercy, and the value of serving him. I gathered an altogether different message.

A servant could be bought by something so measly as bread.

I held the Philosopher's Stone up to the light as it glinted, red like the purest blood. I had something much more valuable than bread to offer my servants.

My arm tingled, marking the alarm, and I carefully locked the Stone away and walked outside to meet Hermione, who smiled brightly once she saw me.

I called out a greeting, more out of habit than practical use, and the deaf girl followed beside me as we went to our next class. "We missed you last night," she said as we waited for the staircases to move into position. "Ron was telling the story of how they flew to Hogwarts again. This time, there were mermaids."

I tapped my chin in a facsimile of deep concentration. "Would that be before or after the hoard of necromancers working in legion with the spiders?"

"Before the necromancers, after the dragons," Hermione giggled, then winced a moment later as she realized. "Sorry."

"I'll have you know, my sensitivity to dragons has dropped significantly over the Summer," I assured her. "A consequence of being forced to keep one as a pet, I suppose."

"I did not force you to keep Norbert as a pet," Hermione protested. "I only said that a family with enough money, political clout, and connection to Hagrid sounded an awfully lot like yours. I didn't expect you to just-"

I laid a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off with a smirk. "Hermione, I was joking."

She relaxed and gave me a smile before pouting. "You shouldn't joke about that, though. I know how much you don't like dragons. Can't believe your family even went along with it."

"They were keener on it than me," I chuckled, still surprised by the reaction. I cupped a hand over one side of my mouth and whispered so only she could read my lips. "Between you and me, I think my mother always wanted a dragon. That's why they named me Draco."

She slapped my arm, laughing. "Stop, you know that's not true."

"You should have seen her face, it was like I'd come home and told her I was the new Minister of Magic." She laughed some more and despite hiding most of my enjoyment, a tiny smile slipped past.

When she'd calmed down enough, she quietly broached a new topic of conversation. "I, uh, said my goodbyes to Judy last night," she said, trying to sound cheerful but unable to look in my eyes. "I still can't feel her like Harry can, but I think she appreciated it."

I nudged her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile when she looked up again. "Don't count me out just yet," I warned, good-naturedly. "I've still got fourteen hours before the end of the bet."

She wiped her eyes with a sleeve, ensuring the unshed tears remained that way. "Thanks, Draco."

We stepped out onto the next landing and greeted Neville as he met us in the hall. It was amazing how much better he looked this year, like he'd actually gotten some sleep. The black rings around his eyes were nearly gone, and he was starting to walk with his back a little straighter.

Hmm, I'd need to figure out a way to update his fear training. He'd started to grow a little too used to heights and snakes by the end of last year, so especially with this increase in confidence, I'd need to step it up.

"Hey, where were you last night?" Neville asked, angling himself so Hermione could see his lips without craning her neck. It was a little bit of an adjustment in the beginning, but by the time second year rolled around it was mostly habit. "We were going through those quizzes Lockhart handed out. Did you know he gave everyone different questions?"

"I was on a floo call with my father," I explained, vaguely. Technically, students were only allowed to rent the floo in fourth year and above, but my family had no small amount of pull with the Hogwarts board, a pull that was only going to be increased by day's end. Neville's words caught up to me. "Wait, what do you mean different questions? Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "He didn't want anyone to copy off each other, I suppose. Are you saying you haven't even looked at yours yet?"

I scratched the back of my neck, looking away. "I've been... preoccupied. I was going to get to it later today."

She raised an eyebrow, expression becoming concerned. "Preoccupied with what? Is something going on?"

The short answer was that everything was going on. Since returning to Hogwarts, I felt like I couldn't stand still, buried under all these goals and plans. It wasn't enough that I was trying to learn alchemy from dusty books and reference guides. I had to continue with Neville's fear training, I had to deal with the broom situation, I had to maintain my relationships with Hermione, Harry Neville, Ron, Filch, and Hagrid. I had to keep up on my studies even as the classes moved more toward practical spellwork where I knew I'd be left behind. That was all before even beginning to take my own efforts at self improvement into account.

Is this what my father felt like all the time? This monstrous list of self-imposed deadlines and demands? It was exhausting.

But at the same time, I couldn't just stop. "It's fine. Just excited for the new school year, you know?"

Hermione looked skeptical. "Yeah," she answered, deadpan. "I know." Damn, she could read me too well.

"What kind of questions did he ask?" I said quickly, trying to change the subject.

Hermione shot me a look that said, 'we'll talk about this later,' and reluctantly let the topic slide. "They were... interesting," she allowed. "Most of them were standard spells we learned last year, some of them were harder or more niche, and a few were, well, rather strange."

"Strange spells?" I asked.

"Strange questions," she clarified. "Some were silly like what his favorite color is or how many times he got muddy in Gadding with Ghouls. But others asked stuff like what would you do if a classmate challenged you to a duel, or if a student went missing, or if a friend betrayed you." She folded her arms across her stomach, looking away. "There's nothing wrong with them: they were just strange."

"What did you say?" I asked, curiously.

"I... didn't have an answer," she admitted after a moment. "I was rather hoping you'd have one."

I put a hand to my chest, melodramatically. "This early in the semester and already copying my answers? For shame, Hermione."

She swatted me again, harder this time. "Brat," she said, sticking her tongue out.

I grabbed the sides of my robes like I was adjusting a coat, and said faux-aristocratically. "You forgot spoiled and rich."

Neville rolled his eyes at our antics and we all laughed, continuing to walk for a while.

"I think..." I said as we approached the Charms classroom. "I think it would hurt, if my friends betrayed me, but at the same time I'd know so much more, maybe it would make finding new friends easier. Like a broken bone," I clutched my arm, frowning, "getting stronger when it heals." I felt Neville and Hermione's eyes on me and laughed, uncomfortably. "I dunno. Maybe that's just me."

Neville nodded and walked in, but Hermione grabbed my sleeve before I could follow. "I won't," she said, determination burning in her expression. "I won't betray you."

For a moment, only a moment, Hermione fell away and I saw a werewolf in her place, begging for bread. I laid a hand on her shoulder and she looked into my eyes once again.

I wished I could say that losing her wouldn't be the same as losing anyone else, that rather than a broken bone I feared I would suffer a much greater injury at her hands if she turned her back on me, that she was so much more than a meager friend. I wished I could say she was my general, and how much that meant to me. But the words never came.

She smiled, brighter than I think I'd ever seen her, and threw her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight hug. "Thank you, Draco," she whispered, and released me before hurrying into the classroom.

Maybe, I considered as I walked in and took my seat. Her being able to read me so easily wasn't that bad after all.

Professor Flitwick surveyed the assembled Gryffindors and Slytherins, watching us like we were a quilt and he was looking for loose threads. He did this a lot, I noticed, and oftentimes I found myself wondering what he was in the last war. A strategist, perhaps? Maybe even a spy, or interrogator? It was difficult to imagine the diminutive, cheerful, man as anything truly dangerous, which was why I always paid special attention to him.

People like Voldemort, Dumbledore, they were always flashy, big, threatening, like the colorful spots on a poisonous bug. If you weren't interested in eating them, for the most part they'd leave you alone. But then there were the quieter sort, the ones who didn't need a reputation, or intimidating look, they always looked harmless: the natural camouflage of predators.

I had been sloppy with Quirrel last year, dismissive. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again. Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, Lockhart. I would be keeping a particular eye on each of them.

"Who can tell me," the Charms professor began the lesson, "what an enchantment is?"

Hermione's hand shot up, naturally. Even questions I would never expect to be asked, she always had an answer. Flitwick Pointed at her, and her hand fell to the desk once again. "Enchantments are long-lasting spells applied to objects to accomplish some purpose," she said, no doubt quoting the textbook from memory.

Flitwick chuckled. "Very good, and about half of all enchantment scholars would agree with you." Flitwick turned to the board and waved his wand, the words 'long-lasting spells,' appearing there. "Now, with this theory, enchantments fall under the Charms category, which means as long as the caster of the charm is competent enough, and the object the charm is placed on remains undamaged, enchantments are perfectly safe. Can anyone tell me the alternative?"

Hermione bit her lip, clearly a bit distressed to not know the answer. It wasn't like anyone else knew it either, though, so I wasn't concerned with her class standing.

"No one?" Flitwick asked. "I can't say I'm surprised. As an art, this has slipped out of fashion for a few centuries. Who here knows what the Philosopher's Stone is?"

I could feel my blood run cold, the seemingly innocuous question causing my brain to spiral through questions and fears faster than I could consciously acknowledge them. Did he know I still had it? No, that was highly unlikely. He may have suspected it, then. It was better to stay silent. I clamped an iron will down, hoping my expression didn't betray my fear. If he only suspected, he couldn't do anything about it. He could taunt me all he liked, but I wouldn't give it away.

"Very good, Miss Granger," Flitwick praised. "Four points to Gryffindor."

I tuned into the real world once again. Hermione must have answered the question. She nearly always does.

"The Philosopher's Stone was a product created by and to be used for..." He waved his wand at the board again, and under 'long-lasting spells,' the word 'Alchemy' was written. "Alchemy," he reiterated, "is a general description of any spell that has a cost higher than a wizard's own magic to cast it. What does this mean? Well, let's say you wanted to permanently change your hair color to a bright purple. For that, you could use a runic circle, an amethyst plucked from the ground by moonlight, a perennial geranium, and a few other odds and ends to create an alchemical ritual." He shrugged. "Or you could apply a hair dye potion every couple months until you get bored of purple. You can see why it's tough for alchemy to gain traction these days."

The class laughed as Flitwick pressed on. "But as an art, it's not without its uses, even today. Has anyone ever heard of a pensieve?"

Millicent Bulstrode raised her hand. "Aren't those the things used in trials?"

"Correct, Miss Bulstrode. Pensieves allow the collective viewing of private memories, and they are constructed through alchemy. But I'm afraid we've gotten a bit off topic." Flitwick tended to do that. "Can anyone tell me what it would mean if enchantments were Alchemy instead of Charms?"

Hermione looked nervous. Having impromptu lessons on topics she'd only researched a little always scared her. Against my better judgement, I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?" Flitwick called on me.

"If alchemy has a cost higher than a wizard's own magic to cast, then what is the additional cost to enchant something?" I answered, thinking back to those books I'd leafed through on the subject, trying to derive some use from the Stone.

"Excellent. Four points to Slytherin," he awarded. "So, just to make sure we're all on the same page, if enchantments are charms, then there's nothing to worry about, but if they're alchemy, then every enchantment has a hidden cost to it no one's quite sure of." He let that statement hang in the air for a minute before turning back to the board. "Now, since this is a Charms classroom, I won't ask you to look into Alchemy for your homework, but if you're at all interested, it is a fascinating subject. In the meantime, continuing with the subject of enchantments, let's look at the Finishing charm." The incantation for the spell appeared on the board as he slowly went through the pronunciation. "Finite incantatem. This spell can be used to temporarily deactivate minor enchantments and if you're exceptionally skilled or incredibly lucky, even form a counter against airborne spells, though I wouldn't recommend you try that until you can get it down to at least one word."

With another wave of his wand, he set continuously spinning tops on each of our desks and asked us to work on deactivating them.

I took out my wand and began going through the motions, still buried in my thoughts.

He brought up alchemy seemingly for no reason. It would be easy to shrug it off as just a quirk of his teaching style, but I didn't believe I was so lucky. He knew something, or guessed at least. If I started asking questions, his guess would be confirmed, but I'd have to find some way to deal with it. Maybe I could use Ron. Having a Ravenclaw around may have been more useful than I thought.

The end of class came and I'd only managed to slow the top down, not stop it completely.

I sighed at the failure. Second year spells. Was that truly my limit?

"Lunch, Draco?" Hermione asked, packing away her notes.

My mind flicked through all the errands I still had to run, and which times would be best to do them. "I've got one thing to take care of. Twenty minutes?"

She nodded and headed toward Gryffindor tower while I went further down for Snape's office.

Seeing Harry in the dungeons was a surprise. "Hey, Draco," he greeted, one ear pressed against the wall.

I raised an eyebrow at the odd scene. "What are you doing?" Honestly, there were better ways to eavesdrop than trying to listen through solid stone.

"I heard a voice a minute ago." He stepped away from the wall, shaking his head. "It was talking about killing someone."

For anyone else, they probably would have brushed it off as just an expression, but Harry and I had fought Voldemort. "Man's voice or woman's?"

"Dunno." His expression was even, but I could tell the event unsettled him. "It had this weird rasp to it." The 'should we tell a teacher,' he was obviously wondering, went unvoiced. He was waiting for me to take the lead on it.

"The voice is gone now?" I asked. It obviously was, or he'd already have had me hear it, but I wanted to make sure.

He nodded. "For a few minutes, yeah."

"Wait on telling anyone. If you hear it again, tell me, but for now just drop it. If you tell the teachers, they won't take us seriously, and if you tell the group, Ron will freak out and Hermione will go on a studying binge." It may not have been the best decision, but if it was all a misunderstanding, I didn't want everyone jumping at shadows.

Harry accepted the decision and gave some vague 'see you later' before continuing on, probably to lunch.

I kept walking toward Snape's office for a few minutes before pausing. What was that hissing sound?

Something heavy struck the back of my head, and my vision faded to black.


	11. First, do the Minimum Amount of Harm

It was that day, I celebrated my unofficial fifteenth birthday. I really feel like I learned a lot over the past few years.

Death, I learned, was incredibly, unimaginably, painful. Every time. Even sometimes when I died in my sleep, or in ways people assumed were relatively painless, there was still an interminable moment where the pain consumed every one of my waking thoughts.

Then, I'd open my eyes to my mother's corpse, and I'd have to start over. No wand, and a whole Summer before I could even influence anything major.

I also learned many interesting things about grief and despair. The repeated exposure of my dead mom to me and the fact the entire monotonous Summer I had to sit through after every reset was steeped in conversations and various dealings with her death, didn't so much make me accept her death, as find the entire subject matter incredibly annoying.

Despair, also, I got tired of, after a few particularly egregious runs ended and I realized I would be trapped in this endless repetition for all eternity, leaving me mostly comatose and given an early admission to Saint Mungoes. I'm not actually sure how I died, those times, but doing nothing was even more frustrating than failing over and over, so I hadn't experienced a relapse of that again just yet.

Instead, I tried again.

Ginevra Weasley, daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley, was a murderer. Technically, I don't believe she'd killed anyone yet, but when she went to Hogwarts it was only a matter of time. Now, you may be wondering why I referred to her by Ginevra instead of her preferred nom de guerre, Ginny, but don't worry, I'm getting to that.

The important thing was, Ginevra would kill, and I had to stop her. I was pretty sure, I was the only one who could.

Now, I didn't have any solid proof of this, but my belief at the time was that I had somehow triggered a very powerful old magic weaved into Hogwarts itself to aid a champion to protect it when it was in danger. None of the, technically fiction, stories I'd read on this subject had named this magic, so I decided to coin the term, the Lunaforce, because honestly I was really tired by the time I decided it should have a name, so there it is.

There wasn't any direct allusion to the Lunaforce in any nonfiction I found, but there were references to things like the Come and Go Room that responded to wishes, the Chamber of Secrets that would only open to the worthy, and a variety of lost to time minor magical effects and quirks of the school that suggested it held, if not a unified consciousness, some manner of self preservation even as an inanimate castle. So that's Lunaforce one, enough scientific rigor to be published and widely recognized nonfiction zero.

But, no matter how shaky my reasoning, I had decided the Lunaforce had given me the ability to reset time on death with the idea I would use it to save the school, and then I'd no longer be stuck in relentlessly repeating purgatory once I was successful.

So, if that was the task I'd been charged with, I set about learning everything I could about Ginevra Weasley, and, to my credit, I did.

Ginevra Weasley was one of the strangest wizards I'd ever met, and not the least because I was more than a little sure she wasn't one wizard, but five.

Ginny, a little girl enamoured with a large variety of muggle television programs and, if given the chance, a fair hand at Quidditch.

Nevra, a charismatic character seemingly based on some old west cowboy property Ginny had seen, with a mischievous streak tapering over to the sadistic.

Eve, some romanticization of a princess, or duchess at least, built to outmaneuver and outthink her opponents, as in court dramas.

Jean, a more stoic figure I saw more rarely. Judging by the way she talked and acted, I believed this one was patterned after certain cold war spy thrillers.

The last one I'd only ever seen once, when I'd thrown a few particularly nasty wrenches in the gears of her plans. The others always managed to catch me unawares, get me into corners, or ambush me with the strange yellow eyed creature, but in this case she looked at me with a wild gaze, and with a wave of her wand I was blasted across the room, dying on impact in front of an entire classroom of students. Obviously, I didn't catch this ones name, so I'll just put a question mark.

?, was mysterious, powerful, completely morally bankrupt, and not as concerned as the others were with secrecy. I wished I could say I was never going to see it again, but I had an unsettling hunch I was going to have to if I wanted to get to the bottom of this.

Now, given all that, do you know who the biggest bane of my existence was? The one responsible for more resets than any other?

Lucius 'school-board' Malfoy.

I would be having a great run, everything going perfectly according to plan, then there'd be one slip up and Lucius Malfoy would swoop in and close down the school, like he'd been watching me, waiting for it.

I couldn't let this happen.

So, in order to stop him closing down Hogwarts, there were three points of contention he normally used to justify the closing, I would need to defend.

The first, obviously, Ginevra couldn't kill anyone. So far, so good, on that, this round, at least.

The second, Lucius Malfoy himself visited the school on four separate occasions that I knew of. He couldn't find anything dangerous or illegal, I had to make sure of it.

And the third and arguably most important: no harm, however slight, could befall his son, Draco Malfoy.

As I whacked the back of his head with a metal gauntlet borrowed from one of the suits of armor, then dragged his unconscious body into a broom closet, I desperately hoped the sizable bump that would no doubt form on the back of Draco's head wouldn't really count as 'harm' to his son, even though it objectively was.

I held my breath as Nevra stalked past the broom closet we were sequestered in, cooing after her missing prey. There was an unbearable hiss accompanying her, like a massive snake invisibly hounded her steps, but soon enough, her and the sound faded in the distance.

"The bloody hell are you?" Draco mumbled, his eyes opening blearily.

It was possible I overestimated the strength of my eleven year old body. I thought he'd be knocked out for much longer.

"Why are we in a broom closet?" He asked next.

I don't think I appreciated the simple beauty of letting Nevra kill Draco before. Granted, it meant Lucius would close the school and I'd have to reset, but the amount of awkward questions were much fewer that way.

"Did you hit me?" He was apparently undeterred by the lack of answers to his other questions.

"I'm trying to protect you," I answered, finally.

He rubbed the back of his head. "By hitting me?"

"Don't fixate on that," I commanded, without any real authority.

"You're a first year, right? What exactly are you trying to protect me from?" To his credit, he was being remarkably reasonable about all this.

"Ginevra Weasley," I whispered, even saying the name aloud chilling my frame.

"You knocked me out and dragged me into a broom closet to save me from... a Weasley?"

I folded my arms, looking crossly at him. "When you say it like that, anything would sound ridiculous."

"No, I don't think there's a way I can say it that won't sound ridiculous," he assured me.

A new voice cut off what I was going to say next as the door opened suddenly. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Just like that, Gilderoy Lockhart stood before us, big, loud, and dressed in purple for some reason. "A little tomfoolery in a broom closet?" He seemed to actually look at us for the first time, his expression turning confused. "A bit young for tomfoolery, you two, don't you think?"

"Not to worry, professor." Draco stood and brushed the dust off his robes. "Just a little game of hide and seek between lessons, you know."

He nodded, understanding lighting his face. "Ah, yes, you know the days of my own youth are not so far away, I don't remember them. I spent many a day..." his words trailed off as he seemed to spy something out of the corner of his eye, and he turned completely to face it. "Merlin's beard."

I stepped out of the broom cupboard, beside Draco, looking with him to see a little boy frozen in place, one eye squinted shut, and the other with a camera poised in front of it.

No movement. Death.

Professor Lockhart strode forward and examined the boy, sighing in relief after a moment. "Still alive," he murmured.

What?

Unfortunately, it was at this moment a large assemblage of students and teachers flooded onto the scene. Professor McGonagall, in the lead, drew her wand and waved it over the boy, whispering a few diagnostic charms, before taking a step back. "He's been petrified."

"Ah, yes." Lockhart stepped forward. "I was just about to come to the same conclusion."

It was difficult for McGonagall and the accompanying students to refrain from rolling their eyes at this. Professor Snape, also present, didn't even try to resist the urge. As he made the action, though, he seemed to spy Draco, his eyes widening just a hair in surprise. It looked like he was about to say something, when McGonagall saw us, too, and beat him to it. "What are you two doing here?" Her eyes narrowed especially on Draco.

"Geeze, stopping Voldemort gets me nothing?" He muttered, rhetorically.

To my surprise, and apparently Draco's as well, it was Lockhart who stepped forward with an explanation. "Yes, I'm afraid one of the older students had locked these two into a broom cupboard down the hall. Can't imagine how long they were in there, it must have been terribly uncomfortable. I had just freed them when we stumbled upon this poor, petrified, boy."

McGonagall looked at him, before her eyes flicked to us. "Is this true?"

Draco and I nodded once.

She sighed. "Very well. Prefects, please escort the members of your houses back to their rooms."

Lockhart interjected before Draco and I could go back to our house groups. "Ah, I was wondering if I might delay them slightly in their return. It's just, I had been meaning to follow up with them about a bit of classwork, and having them right here is too convenient to pass up." He seemed to reconsider. "Of course, it does look like my expertise is needed here..."

"No," McGonagall and Snape said, a little too quickly. After a moment, McGonagall cleared her throat and waved a hand. "No, thank you, Gilderoy. Just please make sure they arrive safely back in their rooms, and try not to keep them too long."

He gave some vague assurances he would and the two of us found ourselves swept up in his grand exit. I shot a questioning expression to Draco as we were shuffled away, but by the confusion visible on his face, he knew about as much as I did.

At least he wasn't focusing on my knocking him out anymore, that was a plus.

"Pop quiz, students," Lockhart announced as we walked quickly down the hall. "What can cause petrification?"

Draco and I exchanged glances. "A cockatrice," he said after a moment.

"A gorgon," I added.

Lockhart nodded, saying nothing, but despite struggling for a few minutes more, Draco and I came up with nothing else. Finally, Lockhart spoke again. "A good attempt. Those are two of the most well-known methods. It's also suspected that House Elves corrupted by evil magics have the ability, but that's more of an urban legend than anything else."

"Then, which petrified Creevey?" Draco asked, skeptically. "Surely someone would notice if a gorgon or cockatrice wandered into the school."

"One would hope, Mister Malfoy," Lockhart agreed. "But no, I'm fairly sure none of these options are Mister Creevey's downfall. Do you know what the last cause of petrification is?"

Neither of us had an answer.

"The diluted form of any sufficiently deadly curse." He chuckled, like the answer was funny. "Usually this occurs with underwater dueling, but it's also been known to happen if there's a great enough wand incompatibility with its user. I don't know if either of you are familiar with wand theory?" Two head shakes answered him and he waved the question off. "It doesn't matter. The point is, some wands simply aren't meant to be in some hands. Try to cast spells with one of those, they're not going to be as powerful as with a wand that suits you better, and with an incompatibility great enough, even deadly curses lose their effectiveness. Do either of you know a student with a grossly incompatible wand? Or even watched a student use a wand you'd never seen before?"

Draco opened his mouth like he had an answer, but shut it a moment after. "None that I can think of."

Lockhart frowned. "I see." He turned his attention to me. "And you?"

I bit my lip, not quite sure how to phrase what I wanted to say. "Aren't we asking the wrong question?"

"How so?" Lockhart asked, coming to his office and walking inside with us in tow.

"Colin's a first year. If the assumption is that someone tried to kill him, a better question than who has an incompatible wand, is who has he managed to upset enough in only a few days to want him dead?"

The answer seemed to be Ginevra in some form, but I'd never seen her petrify anyone before, it was always just murder. Did something happen to her wand that never happened before? But no, it was totally fine at breakfast, she couldn't have damaged her wand and replaced it so quickly.

Lockhart laughed, longer and harder than she thought possible. "I must be getting old," he admitted when he stopped to catch his breath. "All the trivia in the world can't compare to a smidgen of logic." He fiddled with a drawer for a few moments before finally getting it open, withdrawing a piece of paper and staring down at it. "You're right, of course. If you want to get to the bottom of Mister Creevey's incident, looking for a motive would be better than any amount of wand compatibility tests. Still, I wonder if you'd be willing to help me with something?"

Draco and I nodded again, though his was more tentative this time. Lockhart passed the paper to us, and I stared curiously at the drawing. "A wand?"

"Yes, it's all terribly embarrassing, but that is a picture of my original wand. I misplaced it some time ago, and I'm afraid someone must have picked it up and started using it instead of going to a wand shop for one of their own. My compatibility with the one I have now isn't very good at all, so I've been quite eager to get this one back. I don't suppose either of you have seen someone using a wand that looks like this, have you? They won't get into any trouble."

It looked dimly familiar, but definitely not one I'd seen recently, and I'd never mistake it for Ginevra's wand. "Sorry," I started to pass it back, "I don't think I've seen it. Have you been missing it long?"

His expression became pained for a moment. "Too long."

Draco gently plucked the paper from my hand, staring at it with furrowed brow. "Do you mind if I keep this? One of my friends might know something."

"Of course," Lockhart allowed. "I could hardly forget what my own wand looks like." He looked at a clock on the wall. "Ah, but I should be getting you back to your houses."

We went to Slytherin first, and Draco went back inside without so much as a word how I knocked him out. I wasn't sure if he'd be telling his father, but I'd wait to find out, on the off-chance he wouldn't. I'd take what I could get, at any rate.

We kept walking to Ravenclaw tower, and Lockhart bid his goodbyes, turning to go.

"Professor Lockhart," I stopped him before he could leave. "You hunt dark wizards, right?"

"Among all manner of evil creatures, yes," he looked about to begin summarizing his victories, before I cut him off again.

"What do you do when you're afraid of the dark wizard you're hunting?" Each death, each of her kills, scarred my memory. I couldn't so much as think of her without shuddering.

"I... don't get afraid," he said slowly. "But if I did, I would say it's important to remember that no matter who the dark wizard is, no matter how powerful, magically or otherwise, it is still only a man. Every dark wizard," he shook his head, correcting himself, "every person has a weakness, some blindspot to their invincible shield, a chink in their armor. Find that weakness, and anyone will fall."

I looked up at him, curiously. "What's your weakness?"

He laughed, walking away. "I suppose you could say, I lack perspective."

With a final wave behind him, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart disappeared around a corner. What a strange man.

When I turned to face the painting, it gave its riddle. "Where does today come before yesterday?"

I'd gotten much better at riddles, I thought. Though the repetition did tend to wear on me. "In the dictionary."

The portrait slid open and I stepped into the Ravenclaw common room.

I'm not sure exactly what I expected, given a petrification had never happened before, but the sort of dim electricity in all the residents as they wrote letters, read books, and even played games with each other was palpable. It was clear, without even looking at them, that were it not for everyone being confined to their dorms, the whole of Ravenclaw would be out researching and investigating the strange petrification anomaly.

Should I bring up what Professor Lockhart said about wand incompatibility? No, while the opinions of the other houses differed more widely on the subject of our illustrious Defense teacher, Ravenclaw in particular tended to take a dim view on him. A situation I'd imagine caused an unfortunate amount of trouble for Cho Chang.

"Oi, Luna," Ron called, waving me over next to the very Cho I had just been thinking of.

It had only been a few days, at school so far, but with how popular Ron seemed to be I'd barely managed a few words with him. The fact Cho didn't like to even look at me made things exceptionally more difficult.

I nodded to both of them in turn. "Ron, Cho." Even if I wasn't really friends with her, she preferred being called by her first name so I was willing to respect that.

"You were speaking with my father, right?" Cho asked, looking somewhere a little ways off from my left shoulder. "Did he say anything about what happened to that first year?"

"We were talking about that," I hedged, briefly. "It was Colin Creevey, and he was petrified."

The noise in the common room dipped, slightly as the other Ravenclaws tried subtly listening in.

Cho's eyebrows furrowed. "Colin Creevey, first year Gryffindor, muggleborn, one brother. Interested in photography and Harry Potter." She held the expression for another moment before blinking, coming out of it like she was in a fugue state.

Ron shook his head. "I'll never get used to that, mate. It's bloody scary the way you do it."

Cho shrugged. "And yet, I flunked my last written Potions exam. Explain that one to me."

"I dunno what to tell you," Ron admitted.

I did. "Colin Creevey liked Harry Potter?"

She had to think for a moment, but nodded. "Yeah, he went up to him on the first day and asked for an autograph. He's just been following him around since then."

I shook my head, thinking. "But, if he's really been following Harry everywhere, why was he found near the Slytherin common room?"

The quiet in the common room grew deeper. For a house of people dedicated to knowledge, no one seemed to have an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. We'll get to meet Jean soon enough.
> 
> Also, aww, Colin. Poor guy never even got a line.


End file.
